Demon Lord of the Frozen North
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: Number Three in my Historical KURTTY Series. In Dark Age Europe, a young king takes a vanquished foe's daughter a bride. But can she open his heart and teach him the most important lesson of all? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

_"__The King is dead! Long live the King!"-William Shakespeare_

Chapter 1: A Hapless Bride

_(A/N: I believe it is worth noting, once again, that the Kurt depicted in this story is much, much different from the show. In this tale, he is a young, haughty yet insecure prince who has just recently ascended the throne, and feels very uncertain about both his appearance and his ability to rule. Kurt is also made more bitter growing up without a mother and father, and has NO IDEA how to deal with people in general, ESPECIALLY women [He's totally clueless on how to be a husband, so lots of comedy there]. XD And in keeping with my series, he retains his mutant form but lacks powers, and Polenicus, the AU version of the Professor, will be the only other cast member to appear in this fic [I'll try to think of some others, but right now I can't make any promises. We'll just have to see, okay? ^^]. Finally, this story is different from "Devil of the Sea" in that it focuses more on angsty and romantic fluff than action scenes. But I will confirm that there will be an EPIC battle in this tale's climax, so don't worry. ^^ One more thing: the flashback part is WAY cooler if you listen to "Here Comes the King" by X Ray Dog while you're reading it!)_

_Denmark, 1183 A.D, one month before our story begins…_

_By any stretch of reason, Denmark was cold. The icy waters of the frigid North Sea crashed and broke furiously along its shores, sending towers of foam and spray rocketing skyward amidst the jagged dagger-tips of stone that hugged the coast. Floes of ice and sheets of snow jostled for space in the deep water, and the frost on the crests of seawater resembled the icy head on a mug of ale. The land was even less hospitable, perpetually in the freezing grasp of Father Winter, and the howling shrieks of numbingly cold wind and rain soaked the earth with their hazardous precipitation. The spiraling towers of evergreen and pine soared to the heavens, laden with snow and dangling with icicles, and they bent and swayed in a frenzied dance to the blizzard's onslaught that fateful day._

_For it had been proclaimed to all and sundry that a new king had ascended the throne of his father. Regardless of the unbelievably harsh winter weather, all the people who dwelled within the borders of their King made way to be present for the coronation. Obviously, attendance was mandatory for such important occasions, but even so, the social norms of the day frowned on anyone who was remiss enough to shirk such a monumental event for their own selfish reasons. It would not do for a man to be absent when his name was on the proverbial guest list._

_So it was a long, long line of humanity that shuffled into the yawning maw of the castle's entrance. The imposing structure, while built for defense, had more in common with a large, fortified city. The outer walls were over ten feet thick, made of gray stone quarried in the surrounding wilderness. Battlements lined the walltops at regular intervals, and these were separated by a series of large, squat towers from which a sentry could see for miles around. Further inside the city, another string of granite defenses provided another fall-back point in case an enemy breached the outer fortifications, and lastly the heaviest defenses of all were concentrated around the royal palace itself. The effect was to create a concentric ring of stone bastions, each more powerful than the last, and this wise strategy had resulted in the successful slaughter of any foolish enough to try their hand at invasion. The people here were a hardy breed, and thousands of loyal subjects lived their lives within its thick stone and mortar walls. Masons and innkeepers, carpenters and cobblers sold their wares alongside the country folk who brought their livestock to market. It was a hubbub of commercial and economic activity, a shining nexus of civilization in a continent racked by famine, disease and war, and such obvious success was a testament to the wisdom of the monarchs who'd ruled this land for over six hundred years. The royal line stretched back far into the mists of legend and folkore, and it was the newest generation of such an esteemed lineage that prepared to take his seat on the throne._

_The great stone cathedral in the city center, instantly recognizable from its Gothic architecture, rang its great bell loud and clear to let the world know that a new age was dawning on the most powerful kingdom in all of Denmark, the realm that stretched from the coastal town of Frederikshawn to this great city known as Arthus. The brazen knell echoed through the cobblestone streets as banners snapped and cracked in the wind, and the emblem of the two-headed eagle that signified the royal house seemed to be rejoicing on its background of navy blue._

_BONG!_

_In the palace courtyard, noblemen and peasants alike held their breath for the entrance of the new regent._

_BONG!_

_Within the bowels of the castle, a shadowy figure swirled his elaborate crimson cloak behind him as he walked slowly down the drafty corridor._

_BONG!_

_Two blue, furry hands made the oaken double doors creak, and the Crown Prince faced his people as the snowstorm reached fever pitch. The moaning and screeching winds seemed to be rejoicing as the white-out partially obscured his bizarre-looking features, thereby giving him an even more mysterious air. The new monarch's armor of chain and plate clanked audibly as he slowly sat on a large, elaborate throne carved of expensive dark walnut wood, and two pairs of golden eyes closed momentarily as an elderly, kindly-looking courtier reverently lifted a crown from a pillow of purple silk. The silver band, studded with deep red garnets, had been passed down through the ages, worn by each and every King and Queen who'd ruled here, and now the old man's wrinkled hands shook with emotion as he gently placed the crown on his Lord's blue, furry head._

_BONG!_

_The old one spoke, and his tones were laden with almost paternal pride. "By the grace of God…"_

_BONG!_

"…_And with the trust of your people…"_

_BONG!_

"_I hereby crown you King Kurtillian Wagnerius I, Lord of Denmark."_

_BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!_

_The elder knelt in deference to his liege. "Long live the King!"_

_BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!_

_All present, men, woman and children alike, followed suit. The masses kneeled like wheat before the scythe. "Long live the King!"_

_Now…_

Catherine of Prydian had never been so scared before in her young life.

She felt her heart catch in her chest as the unconquered walls of Arthus hove into view through the light sheets of snow that caught in her shining brown hair, and the horse she rode whinnied and rolled its head as if mirroring her own anxiety.

Beside her, a column of armored soldiers surrounded her like a sheep amidst a pack of wolves, their halberds and swords glistening in the soft moonlight as they thundered toward the gate. The presence of such men only served to remind Catherine that her entire life had crumbled.

A tear squeezed from her eye. It had only been a week since this new king had invaded the lands of her father, King Desiderius, with all the fury and suddenness of an icy flood. The disastrous campaign had only gotten worse when the young Lord had captured the cities of Vejle and Esbjerg; the loyal men who had opposed their new overlord had been slaughtered mercilessly on the killing fields outside the city walls. This Wagnerius had proceeded to lay siege to the city of Catherine's father, and to her anger and humiliation, the once-proud metropolis of Odense, where the Prydians had ruled since time immemorial, fell in just ten days.

The kingdom that Catherine's ancestors had built now lay in ashes and ruin, her father missing, probably dead. The entire campaign had taken a little over a month, a month marred by blood and fire, and now all of Denmark lay under Wagnerius's banner.

But as terrible as all of this may be, Catherine's problems had multiplied once the new king had made his rule absolute. It was not difficult, as her people were not about to challenge the reign of such a person, but Wagnerius had gone one step further to cement his claim to the former kingdom of Prydian. In a manner typical of most lords of his day, he decided to take the vanquished King's daughter as a bride. This served two purposes: first, as stated, taking Catherine's hand in marriage served to legitimize his rule. And, even more importantly, the presence of a Queen would assure the presence of an heir to take over upon Wagnerius's death.

It was a shrewd political move, one that assuaged the fears of the conquered and satisfied the conquerors. The only one who didn't profit from the deal was, of course, Catherine.

She had no desire to be Queen of this land. While the bride had never met the groom in person, Catherine knew full well how abusive and domineering many monarchs could be. An icy hand of fear gripped her rib cage at the thought of such a cruel man forcing himself upon her. It was not at all unlikely that he would beat her if she failed to please him or produce an heir, preferably a son, and if he were REALLY unstable, a simple mistake could land Catherine on the headsman's block.

The black cloud of misery settled over the poor woman like a heavy coat, and Catherine bit her lip as the iron gate clanked upward to admit them to the city.

The horses' hooves _clip-clopped_ loudly the soldiers steered Catherine through the unfamiliar streets, and her mind unconsciously remembered the tale of Daniel and the lion's den.

The princess did not expect to be as fortunate as Daniel, and Catherine barely contained a sob as the soldiers hailed the walltops of the Royal Palace.

It was a beautiful building, Catherine admitted. Its crenellations and battlements were stylishly ornamented as animals of heraldry, and the Palace's graceful arches and towering spires would have made her smile under any other circumstances. It was a structure that had been well-cared for, protected from the ravages of time, but all thoughts of décor and architecture were dashed as the lead soldier, Lord General Valens, hailed the guard on duty high above.

"It is I!" the scar-faced general called. "We have returned with the Lord's new bride! Admit us, and be quick about it!"

Catherine spared a glance at him. Valens was obviously a career soldier, as evidenced by his marred face and scratched armor. She had no doubt that the brilliant campaign only just past had largely been _his _brainchild, and it was obvious that the man was very versed in his chosen trade to achieve such a rank. Doubtless Valens had served under Wagnerius's father, and maybe even his grandfather, judging by the lines near his eyes and mouth.

"Stay there!" The sentry shouted back. "We'll open the gate and send a boy to take your horses, sir!"

"And a mug of ale, while you're about it!" Valens snapped. "I've been riding for three days straight, you know!"

"I will see to it, sir!" the other man saluted smartly and disappeared below the walltop.

As if on cue, a small boy of about twelve seemed to materialize beside Catherine's chestnut roan. He tugged his ear respectfully. "I'll be takin' yer horse, if'n you please, miss."

The formal way that he'd addressed her was nothing new. Catherine was a princess, after all. She nodded and smiled kindly at him, despite her fear and grief. There was no need to be angry at such a small lad. "Thank you," she said. "If you give him a carrot, he'll warm up to you right away."

"I will, miss," the boy replied seriously, her gentle tone lost upon him.

Valens dismounted with practiced ease and offered Catherine his hand so as to help her dismount. Being clad in the normal feminine attire of dress and skirt, she had little choice but to comply. The fine woolen garments rustled as the new bride touched the streets of Arthus for the first time, and Valens did his best to smile reassuringly at her. This was difficult, given his fearsome countenance, but Catherine had to admit that Valens, at least, tried to give her some measure of comfort.

The princess let go of his hand as soon as she regained her balance, resisting the urge to let go hastily as if the proffered appendage were a poisonous viper. Her face trembled slightly, mirroring the all-consuming terror she felt, and Catherine's heart beat thunderously in her chest as Valens led her down the corridor.

"Regardless of your…_situation_," he said. "This entire palace is at your disposal. If you have need for anything at all, Mary will attend you. The King has specifically ordered that you be denied nothing."

"Thank you," Catherine said, but it was forced. "Who is Mary?"

"She is His Majesty's personal chambermaid," Valens said. "She serves the King, and thus, my lady, serves you."

"Aye," a feminine voice, heavy with an almost Scottish brogue, made Catherine turn to glance at the woman who was now walking beside her.

The servant, Mary Macleod, was short in stature, squat and heavily built. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with a permanent merriment, but her face was actually rather intimidating. Laugh lines and crow's feet wrinkled the skin about her quick eyes, and the copper-colored pupils seemed to taken in everything in a glance with a memory sharper than a steel trap. Mary seemed to have a no-nonsense air about her: her mouth was full, her hair streaked with gray, and her hands, while wrinkled, were strong enough to hoist a pail of water over the city walls yet nimble enough to work wonders with needle and thread. A white apron was tied about Mary's waist, ragged at the edges and permanently stained with food and drink, and her beefy, muscular arms smoothed it down in a futile attempt to tame the worn fabric.

The chambermaid patted Catherine's hand with her own while shooing Valens away. "Be off wi' ye, solja boy," she scolded. "Ye'll have the entire palace down wi' gloom afore along!"

Valens snorted and turned on his heel, and Mary's voice became gentler. "Now don' let yer fears get the best o' ye," she chided softly. "Th' King may not be the most affable lad around, but he be a good sort. I minded him e'er since 'e was in diapers, aye, so I know that he'll be doin' right by ye."

"Is that so?" Catherine snorted.

"Aye," Mary nodded sagely. "But see, th' King's not very good wi' people, ye ken? His mother died in childbirth, don't ya know, an' his father died not too long after. Me'n Polenicus, we raised the lad, we did, as best we could, but Lord knows th' King's got troubles not even we can solve."

"Such as?"

Mary tapped her nose. "That be a secret," she winked. "But our King's one of a kind, all right." The chambermaid pushed open the fancy door that led to the regent's personal chambers, and Mary bade Catherine to rest.

"Ye must be tired from all that ridin'," Mary said, with a tone that added she wouldn't take no for an answer. " 'Is Majesty be a bit busy right noo wi' politics an' such, but 'e'll be a long shortly, lass. Gimme a ring if ye need anythin' at all."

With that brisk statement, the formidable Mary Macleod took her leave. Her skirts rustled as she bustled down the hall, and Catherine, overcome with weariness, sank onto the luxurious sheets.

Sleep was instantaneous, and Catherine gained a brief respite from her troubles in the blackness of sleep.

So tired was she, that the young bride didn't notice someone _else_ enter the chamber not long after she'd been abed. A spaded tail thrashed as he closed the door softly, and those golden eyes alighted on her with such intensity that Catherine was roused instantly.

Her mind went blank with fear at the fearsome sight before her.

The King (for it could only be he), was outfitted head to toe in expensive plate armor. His metal boots clanked as he approached the fire, and the mailed gauntlets that covered his hands stretched outward toward the dancing flames. His cloak was rent by sword and dagger, his cuirass scratched and stained with blood, and the heavy helmet atop his shoulders concealed all but those eerie amber pupils that appraised her from within the T-shaped visor.

The scarlet cape fluttered as it was tossed carelessly aside, and the King of all Denmark slowly, ever so slowly, removed the great helm that hid his face.

The shining metal glinted in the firelight, and Kurtillian Wagnerius wiped sweat from his brow as he turned to face her.

Catherine would have screamed, had she had enough wind to do so.

This…_man_, if he was indeed a man at all, possessed a coat of thin, blue fur all over his body! His ears were pointed like a demon's, and his mouth opened to reveal a set of wicked-looking fangs! An actual _tail_ writhed and squirmed about his ankles like a living thing, and his feet and hands only had two digits apiece! What kind of kingdom was this, for such a monstrosity to sit on the throne?

Any further coherent thought was cut off abruptly as Catherine fainted dead away.

Kurtillian, or Kurt, as he was more commonly known, sighed with exasperation and gazed heavenwards, as if seeking patience there. A blunt finger rubbed the skin between his eyebrows, and Kurt's voice mirrored his frustration.

"Oh, for _crying out loud…_"

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY! ^^ I finished opening my presents this morning, and I thought, "What better gift to give my readers than my next story?" I needed to start, too, 'cause I'm really psyched about it and my fingers were itching to crank this first chapter out! Therefore, it is with pride and pleasure that I present the beginning of the final volume of my Historical Kurtty Series! Consider this _my _present to you all! XD And if you haven't guessed by now, I LOVE REVIEWS! If you have ANY constructive criticism or ideas on how I can make this story better, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	2. Chapter 2

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 2: A Clueless King

The blue-furred mutant shook his head as he shed his armor like an old layer of skin. The shiny greaves, armbands and breastplate clanked loudly as they were dropped to the floor, but even the loud noise failed to rouse Catherine from her shock-induced stupor.

Kurt's voice was bitter and laced with irony. "Guess I should have expected that," he muttered darkly to himself, glancing at his new bride's prone form. "They're all the same, looking at me like some kind of menagerie exhibit…"

The mutant's tail swished viciously as he took a crystal decanter from the bedside table, pouring a sip of amber-colored liquid and downing it promptly. The tiny glass _clinked_ as he set it back down, and Kurt felt confusion as to what to do next. _Should I wake her up? _He wondered. _Or should I just leave her?_

Curiosity got the better of him, and Kurt hesitantly tried waving a hand over Catherine's face. "Um...are you…okay?" he asked haltingly, his voice unsure. "I, uh, didn't mean to scare you."

Kurt's efforts were rewarded when Catherine's brown eyes snapped open. The chocolate-colored pupils were as timid as a frightened doe's, and the sight of Kurt standing over her almost made her faint again.

Kurt's heart wrenched, as it had so many times before in his young life. _Everyone _seemed to look at him like that at one time or another. He tried to say something to reassuring, desperate to at least get this girl to stop passing out every time she looked at him.

"Uh…hi," he said stupidly. Mentally, Kurt slapped himself.

Catherine's mouth moved for several moments, but the terror that threatened to consume her only manifested itself as a harsh croak of fear. She was now convinced that this demonic apparition was intent on doing unspeakable things to her.

That sort of unpleasantness was the farthest thing from Kurt's mind. He was too preoccupied trying to figure out what to say next. Kurt's royal upbringing and freakish appearance meant that his people skills were sorely lacking. His knowledge of women was almost nonexistent, for that matter, and thus Kurt was at a loss on how to relate to this terrified young woman. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this, and being young and rash, he'd never stopped to consider the responsibilities of having a spouse.

Fortunately, Kurt was saved from further embarrassment by the emergence of the formidable Mary Macleod into his private chambers. The fiery Scot tutted at the sight of Kurt's armor, as the young king had strewn it haphazardly on the floor.

"Now what 'ave I bin tellin' ye?" she demanded, with absolutely no trace of the subservience one would normally address a monarch. "Don' be leavin' yuir armor all aboot like that! Ye'll trip an' break yer neck one o' these days, mark m'words!" Mary gasped as she held up Kurt's ripped and torn cloak. "I just mended this not three days back! Why must ye wear all yer good cloaks onto the battlefield, I ask ye? Don't make much sense, when ye get right doon to it!"

Catherine giggled at the sight of this servant scolding a king, and Kurt totally deflated as he felt his cheeks heat up like a furnace. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mary cut him off.

"Jest let me catch ye goin' oot in weather like this again, Milord! Ye'll catch yer death o' cold afore yer much older!"

Kurt was so embarrassed by Mary's maternal behavior that he seriously considered impaling himself on his sword to save face. Though she was but a servant, Mary had been like a mother to him for as long as he could remember, and thus Mary's unique position allowed her to address her King in such a blatantly insubordinate manner. And there was another thing that made Mary so indispensable: being the head servant, _nothing _went on in the palace without her knowing or hearing about it. Her insider information had already saved Kurt's life more than once.

Catherine pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. It didn't work, and Kurt glared at her sullenly.

"What's so funny?"

The sight of those golden eyes fixed upon her made Catherine's merriment die on her lips. "Nothing," she squeaked, scooting across the bed to get away from him.

Inwardly, Kurt banged his head against a proverbial wall. If anything, he'd succeeded in making Catherine even _more _frightened of him.

A growling sound caught his attention. "What was that?" Kurt wondered.

Catherine glared at him, trying not to shiver as she did so. "I've been riding a horse for three days," she said, as though it were obvious. "I'm hungry."

Kurt scowled right back."Then why didn't you say so? You could have eaten before coming up here; the kitchens are open night and day!"

"Yes, well, I was a little bit distracted by the fact that _you _invaded my home and forced me to come here!" Catherine shot back, becoming bolder as outrage replaced her apprehension. "What did my father ever do to you, anyway? You had no provocation and no reason to do all of that!"

Kurt glowered at her. "My reasons for doing so are my own," he snapped. "And _you _are hardly in a position to be making demands, _Princess_!"

Catherine spread her arms wide. "What are you going to do? Kill me, after you went to all the trouble to bring me to your castle? I think not, _Your Majesty_!"

Kurt's hotheadedness made a bad situation even worse. "What makes you think I _won't _have you killed, after speaking to me like that?"

Catherine pointed at Mary and smiled sweetly. "_She's _still around, isn't she? Some king _you _are, letting your servants talk to you so!"

Kurt trembled with rage. "At least _I _still have _my _kingdom, unlike your father," he snarled.

That did it. Catherine still had no idea if her father were still alive, and Kurt's venomous retort shattered her restraint of the misery and sadness she felt. The princess burst into tears.

Kurt was at once bewildered and appalled. Only moments ago, Catherine was almost scarlet with rage, and yet one retort sent tears streaming down her cheeks. His furious expression crashed to the floor, and though he searched desperately for _something _to say to her, Kurt's brain went offline at the very instant he needed it the most.

Mary bustled by him, laundry in tow. The chambermaid winked smarmily at him. "Good luck, laddie. Ye'll need it."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you're not doing a very good job," Kurt muttered.

Mary cackled to herself as her slippers _shushed _down the stone corridor, but her progress was halted by the aged yet kindly visage of the courtier, Polenicus.

The balding man arched an eyebrow in the direction of Kurt's room. "Dare I even ask?"

Mary snorted. "I think it be goin' rather well, actually, all things considered."

Polenicus sighed wearily. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him. I swear, that boy's going to worry me right into my grave one day…"

It was just as well that the sage decided to offer his counsel, because no sooner had Polenicus approached his king's chambers than the aforementioned monarch stormed outside. Kurt's expression was one of anger and confusion, and he looked at Polenicus with utter exasperation.

The courtier recognized the unspoken question and motioned with his arm. "Walk with me," he instructed, waiting until Kurt fell in step beside him.

The mutant couldn't help but be impatient. "Well?"

Polenicus ignored him. "It was something you said, wasn't it?" he asked, nodding back at Catherine's sobs.

"No!" Kurt automatically denied the accusation, but then he shrugged guiltily. "Well…maybe…"

"My lord, while I applaud the political astuteness of such a marriage, did you ever stop to consider the responsibilities of having a bride?" Polenicus spoke frankly. "She is not an object that one keeps around, Sire. Having a wife is a lifelong commitment; you are obligated to provide for her and keep her safe and happy, and you are expected by your people to be a good and responsible father to any...any _children_ you might have in the future. I fear that you burdened yourself with such cares before you were full ready to deal with them," the sage concluded quietly. "You and I both know that your exposure to women has been rather limited."

Kurt's face fell as the full enormity of his position dawned on him. Polenicus had hit the nail on the head: the king, as usual, hadn't thought out his actions or considered the ramifications of marriage. A weight of guilt and confusion settled on his shoulders. "What do I do? I can't just send her back, can I?"

"No," Polenicus admitted. "That would hardly be proper. I suppose you'll just have to learn on the go, as it were. And I believe an apology might be in order once you return to your chambers, my lord."

Kurt stiffened. Those of the royal line normally didn't have to adhere to such niceties, and Kurt's pride as a newly crowned king would make any such gesture difficult. "Isn't there a less obvious solution?"

"No," Polenicus said firmly. "You need to show her that you care about her feelings, sire. And, if I might take the liberty, a few flowers wouldn't hurt, either."

"Flowers?" Kurt asked, bewildered. "What do flowers have to do with anything?"

"Women love them," Polenicus clarified. "You might want to see if you can find some outside."

"Can't I have a servant do it?"

"You could, but giving them yourself would make you seem much more sincere."

Kurt groaned, knowing he'd been beaten. "Are there any still in bloom?"

Polenicus grinned. "I believe the rear courtyard has a lovely patch of daffodils this time of year."

But Kurt was already gone.

_Later…_

Catherine sniffled, wiping the last tears from her eyes, and a shuddering breath racked her body as she attempted to dispel her despair. Her cheeks were red and flushed, her nose red as a tomato, and Catherine kicked a chair over bad-temperedly in her helplessness and rage.

_That insensitive cad!_ She thought viciously. _He is doesn't even come close to the man Mary described! How can he be so uncaring? Honestly, I have never met a more egotistical, self-centered-_

Her mental rant was cut short as the telltale creak of door hinges drew her attention. For a moment, Catherine smiled, thinking it was Mary, but her face hardened as a thoroughly chastened and embarrassed Kurt slunk into his chambers. In one hideously misshapen hand, he bore a platter of food and drink, and a bundle of yellow-colored flora was clutched in the other.

Catherine would have snorted and turned away, had she not been so infatuated with the delicious-looking meal. Kurt took that opportunity to mumble something under his breath.

Catherine glared at him. "I didn't quite catch that," she said frostily.

Kurt resisted the urge to break something. " 'Msorry," he mumbled again.

"What?" Catherine's ears still failed to pick up the muted message.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Kurt snapped, but then he remembered Polenicus' advice and tried to sound sincere. "I'm sorry for…making you cry."

The mutant gestured to the plate. "You said you were hungry, right?"

Catherine needed no further bidding. She pounced on the food like a ravenous wolf, and Kurt pressed something into her hand.

She sneezed. "What are these?" Catherine asked, looking at the arrangement of bright yellow petals.

"Daffodils," Kurt muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. "I thought…"

"I'm don't like daffodils," she replied matter-of-factly, shoving them back. "They make my nose itch and my eyes water."

It took all of Kurt's self control not to send the table crashing through the window. _Oh, come ON!_ he thought disbelievingly. _Seriously? I go out into a damn blizzard to pick a bunch of stupid flowers and she throws them in my face! This girl is impossible!_

Catherine happened to glance his way, and Kurt was so ashen-faced that she felt a pang of guilt for the brusque way she'd refused the gift. She had to admit that this bizarre king was making _some _kind of effort to be hospitable, and he now looked so miserable that Catherine couldn't help but try to make him feel a little better.

"But I appreciate the gift, my lord," she added hastily. "It was very…_thoughtful _of you."

Kurt's brain began launching fireworks. Perhaps he was doing something right, after all. The young regent swallowed his pride before he spoke. "Listen, um, I'm sorry for saying that. About your father, I mean." An idea came to him just then, and Kurt added, "I can let you see him, if you like…"

"He's alive?" The hopefulness on her face made a volley of guilty arrows shoot through Kurt's heart. Catherine had obviously been worried sick about the old man, and now the mutant felt like some kind of monster for keeping her in the dark for so long.

"Yeah…" Kurt tried to valiantly to smile, but the sight of his fangs only served to unnerve his new bride. "I'll have him released, as soon as he proves his loyalty. And I'll tell the guards to expect you."

"Thank you!" So great was Catherine's relief that she jumped up and hugged Kurt right around his blue, furry neck.

Kurt stiffened slightly, as he was not accustomed to such…_intimate_ contact. His coherent thought processes threatened to go offline at the feeling of Catherine's soft, warm body against his own. He felt like he was supposed to do something, anything, but the only action Kurt took was to slowly lift his hands, so as to return the gesture. Kurt was not well-versed in hugging, but he'd seen it enough times to know the basics. The king's whole body seemed _alive _at Catherine's touch.

Misshapen he may have been, but Kurt was still male.

This fact was not lost upon Catherine. In a cruel twist of fate, she suddenly and quickly pulled away from him before Kurt could summon up the courage to hug her back. The princess's face turned crimson as Kurt's became a much darker shade of blue, and fear made Catherine shudder at the thought of what Kurt might do next.

Kurt shook his furry head, his mind still a primordial ooze. "You should get some rest," he said, and for once his tone did not hint at any hesitation or lack of confidence. Those warped fingers gestured toward the lavish sheets. "I'll…uh…have some nightclothes sent up, if you like."

The king took a step toward her, and Catherine felt every pore of her being ooze with terror. She was now sure that her rash hug had only awakened her new husband's natural urges.

_He's going to rape me_, Catherine thought sadly. _And I can do nothing._

She winced and closed her eyes-

-But was shocked when no such assault was forthcoming. Instead of pinning her down, Kurt walked right past Catherine and curled up, almost catlike, on the luxurious bearskin rug.

It took a moment for her brain to realize that Catherine's new husband was not going to barbarize her. The fact that Kurt preferred to sleep on the floor rather than harm her or make her uncomfortable was actually…

Catherine blushed again. It was actually rather sweet. Certainly other rulers would have had no such compunctions. She was grateful to Kurt for sparing her so, and Catherine opened her mouth to speak, to say _something _resembling an expression of gratitude.

But there was no point. The steady rise and fall of Kurt's chest let her know that he was already asleep.

Catherine felt her heart soften ever so slightly. She had already determined that Kurt was a haughty, arrogant person with no reins on his mouth, a man who had shattered her idyllic world and brought here, to this strange new place. He'd even had her father imprisoned.

And yet…

Confusion welled up inside the young woman.

_Perhaps he _is _a good person, deep down…_

A/N: Awww, don't you just looooove some good, romantic fluff? I hope you all have been enjoying this story so far, 'cause I know I've been having a BLAST writing it! And PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have any ideas or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW^^ Coming up: Catherine of Prydian is given a crash course in medieval politics, and the young bride makes a bitter rival in Kurt's court…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	3. Chapter 3

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 3: A Turbulent Beginning

Kurt woke up first that morning, and he was momentarily disoriented when he realized that he was not afloat in his luxurious sheets and quilts. Almost instinctively, the young king reached for the sword that was always near at hand, but Kurt's grip on the leather-bound hilt relaxed as the memories of the previous evening flooded his mind.

He blushed furiously. Kurt was _married _now. Admittedly, the engagement hadn't been made official, but the fact remained that his entire life had been altered with one rash, hot-headed decision. Catherine was his responsibility, and though Kurt would never admit it, the whole situation frightened him. Even so, Kurt had to admit that his new bride _was _extremely pretty.

But kings, he knew, were not supposed to be afraid of anything or anyone. Cowardly monarchs rarely lived very long, especially here in Denmark. The fact that the prospect of betrothal scared Kurt to death seriously grated on both his nerves and his pride.

Added to this was the saddening fact that Kurt's new bride was obviously not very fond of him. If anything, Catherine seemed to think that Kurt was some sort of unholy monster, a beast among men, and the fear in her brown eyes had spoken volumes about her opinion of him.

Kurt's heart lurched again. He knew, somehow, that Catherine had expected him to rape her. That she though so lowly of her new spouse sent a blade of anguish right through Kurt's chest. _I may be a King, but I'm no savage!_ He thought furiously. _What did I do to make her hate me so?_

_You invaded her homeland and seized her ancestral throne, for one thing, _a nasty little voice in the back of his head replied. _Did you really expect her to welcome you with open arms?_

Kurt banished the nuisance by splashing cold water on his face from a nearby basin. His peculiar amber-gold eyes glinted as he went to dress.

Kurt's sheer stubbornness and persistence were both his greatest strengths and, occasionally, his greatest flaws. If nothing else, he would prove his worth as a husband to Catherine simply because his pride demanded it. Come Hell or high water, Kurt vowed, he would at least get her to be comfortable in his presence.

He pulled on a pair of scarlet leggings, made from the finest wool, and his tail twitched somewhat as Kurt fastened a fine, flowing black cloak about his shoulders with a delicate silver clasp. One of the advantages of being King was that you always got the best of everything: the best food, the best weapons, the best horses, and the best clothes. Besides, Kurt thought a ruler should look the part, and the conservative yet elegant outfit certainly marked him as a cut above the average Joe.

He took care to exit the chamber quietly, and the heavy wooden door only made a slight creak as he left Catherine to her slumber. Kurt almost immediately spotted Mary rounding the corner, and he signaled for her to attend him.

"What can I do for ye, milord?" the chambermaid asked cheerily.

"I would very much like for my…" Kurt swallowed. "…For my _wife _to join me for breakfast in the dining hall this morning. Would you wake her for me, please?"

Mary curtsied. "Of course, milord," she said, scurrying off.

Inwardly, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted to wake Catherine himself, largely because he feared doing so would only lower him even further in her estimations. Better to have Mary do it, and probably in a much gentler manner. Mary would probably tickle Catherine's nose to rouse her, but Kurt, in keeping with his non-existent social skills, would have just shaken her awake and probably scared Catherine half to death in the process.

The king shook his head. He _really _needed to get out more, as people tended to follow a ruler with whom they were familiar, a man with whom the masses identified. Kings and queens who secluded themselves and remained distant were more likely to see insurrection or rebellion.

Normally, Kurt would have walked about the city marketplace or something, but his appearance made him understandably self-conscious and nervous about being among his subjects.

He shook his head again. Kurt could not afford to wallow in self-pity right now. His people needed him.

He had a country to run…

_Meanwhile…_

Catherine of Prydian sneezed violently as Mary waved a quill under her nostrils. The princess's eyes snapped open, and she rubbed furiously to dispel the maddening itch.

Mary grinned at her. "Rise and shine, milady. Up and at 'em!"

Catherine yawned, stretching languidly as she did so. The spot on the rug that Kurt had occupied was conspicuously empty. "Where is he?" she asked.

Mary knew exactly what Catherine was talking about. " 'Is Majesty be breakin' 'is fast right aboot noo," the Scot said briskly. "An' we need to make ye presentable afore ye sit at 'is table, lass. Just look at yer hair! Wouldn't be proper for ye to show up wi' bedhead, milady. Not proper at all!" Mary laid a gown the color of new leaves on the bed. "Ye'll look a peach wi' this on," she assured Catherine. "But first let's get ye clean. I've drawn a bath for ye right o'er there." At this, the chambermaid pointed at a large, deep basin of steaming water. "Noo get in there an' don't e'en think o' comin' oot 'till yer fresh as a daisy," the formidable woman said. "I'll be right outside if'n ye need anythin'."

Catherine hurried to comply as Mary resumed her post by the door. The heated water, a luxury in these climes, looked most inviting. She could not help but enjoy the feeling of the hot water as she scrubbed away the worries and fears of the previous evening.

The princess went to check her reflection as she rinsed her hair-

-But found, to her astonishment, that there were Kurt's chambers lacked reflective surfaces of any kind. A few tiny shards of glass were all that remained of any mirrors that might have been here, and Catherine felt something very close to pity for her new husband.

Though she could only guess, the fact was that Kurt had indeed shattered the mirrors himself. He was repulsed every time his freakish reflection stared back at him.

Mary barged in just as Catherine finished drying herself off. The Scot seemed to have a sixth sense about those sorts of things, and she painstakingly checked Catherine's measurements against the dress before helping the new bride to slip it in on. Mary's blunt fingers hurried to fasten the ties in the back, and the green fabric swirled as Catherine turned to face her. "I would much prefer to take breakfast in private," she told Mary with a hint of warning in her voice.

Mary shook her head vigorously, as if the prospect of such a thing was unthinkable. "Nay, nay, milady. 'Is Majesty himself said that you were to sit at his table. An' why refuse such a modest request? Surely a meal this morn wouldnae kill ye, eh?"

Catherine had to admit that Mary was right. And she was still a little too afraid of Kurt to blatantly defy him. Her shoulders sagged slightly as Mary almost pushed her out the door. "I'd hurry if'n I was ye," she said. "An' don' keep yer 'usband waitin'!"

"Right," Catherine replied, forcing a smile as Mary shut the door behind her. The stone corridor seemed drafty and cold compared to the warmth of the fire inside, and Catherine shivered slightly as she tried to get her bearings.

It was no use. This palace and its layout were unfamiliar to the new queen. Catherine had no idea how to get the dining hall, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Salvation presented itself in the form of a halberd-toting guard, who stood stiffly to attention as Catherine approached him.

"How may I serve you, milady?" the man asked with a crisp, militaristic tone.

"Could you direct me to the feast hall?" Catherine inquired. "I…seem to be lost."

"Yes, milady," the guard said instantly. "Turn right at the next hallway, and it will be the second door on your left. And, if it pleases you, milady, I would say that you will hear the feasting long before you see it."

Catherine nodded, suppressing a grin. The sentry was right, after all; a big room filled with hungry men would certainly be loud enough to locate. "I thank you," she nodded at him.

"Of course, milady," the guard replied smartly. "It is a privilege to be of service."

_Valens certainly has his men well-trained, _Catherine thought, following a path on the route the guard described. True to the anonymous sentry's advice, the sounds of drinking and feasting reached her ears before she even rounded the corner: chalices clinking, laughter, and an indecipherable buzz of conversation. Smells, too, made Catherine's stomach growl. The scents of fresh bread and cheese, a newly tapped barrel of fine red wine, chicken and turkey and all manner of hearty fare assailed her nostrils in a wondrous cornucopia of aromas.

She stopped momentarily, on the other side of the imposing-looking double doors that stood in her way. Catherine had no doubt that the entrance was built for just such an effect, to humble the peasants and laymen who entered their King's feast hall. It worked for Catherine, too, and she took a moment to summon her courage before gently pushing the large slabs of oak aside.

Though she'd hoped to enter quietly, Catherine's planned inconspicuous entrance was foiled before she'd even taken a full step. A herald spied her and proclaimed loudly, "The Queen of Denmark cometh! Stand fast, all, and pay tribute to the King's bride! Long live the Queen!"

Those assembled on the wooden tables and benches took the hint. It would not do for any of them to be seen snubbing or paying even the slightest disrespect to any of the royal house. After all, doing so more often than not ended in a scenic dungeon vacation or, in extreme cases, a visit to the chopping block. Young and old, poor and rich alike raised their goblets on the herald's cue, parroting his last declamation. "Long live the Queen!"

Catherine felt her cheeks begin to turn pink at being the center of such attention, and she tried not to show her discomfort as Kurt beckoned to a seat at his right, atop the raised dais where he sat. Catherine tried not to look at him, embarrassed as she was, but Kurt caught her eye as he slid a plate of biscuits and roast pork across the table.

"Um, uh, good morning," he said, trying to smile. The sight of his fangs made Catherine's stomach churn.

"And to you as well," she replied, keeping her tone formal. Inwardly, Kurt wanted to curl up in a ball and hide in a dark corner somewhere. _Does she hate me so much that she won't even talk to me?_

"Did you…sleep well?" Kurt tried a different tactic.

Catherine arched an eyebrow at him, and Kurt realized how perverted his question must have sounded. "I mean, uh, did you rest well? I wasn't…What I meant to say was…I didn't mean anything like that…" Kurt's voice trailed off miserably. _What was I thinking? Now she believes I'm a villain AND a pervert! Girls are so DIFFICULT! Why are these things never clear?_

"I had a good night's rest, if that's what you mean," Catherine said, trying not to giggle. It was obvious that Kurt was making a conscious effort to be civil, and she _would _have said something in his favor to reassure him…

But right now, Catherine was having _far _too much fun. And in any case, she felt entitled to some miniscule measure of payback for being brought here to begin with. _I think I'll just let him keep at it for now, _Catherine thought, grinning inwardly. _Let's see just how many times His Majesty can embarrass himself in one meal. _

Kurt passed her a wedge of fresh, bright yellow cheese. Catherine accepted it primly, and used an elaborate silver knife to spread it on a slice of bread, still steaming from the oven. She had to restrain herself from smiling as she took a bite of the treat, as the food was delicious.

Her new husband watched her nervously, as if waiting on her pronouncement of the meal's quality. Catherine's shoulders hitched with concealed laughter at her ongoing private joke, but Kurt thought he'd said something to offend her.

The young king felt like thumping his head against the table. _Why is she crying? I didn't DO anything this time! _Despair threatened to overwhelm him. _Am I really so hideous that just looking at me will reduce her to tears? _

Kurt's heart sank, and he was suddenly overcome with a desire to be away from everything and everyone. _She really _does _despise me…_

He stood up abruptly, setting his goblet down so hard that a few stray drops of mead splattered the table. With his voluminous cloak swirling behind him, Kurt left the table without another word.

Catherine realized that her prank had gone too far. She guiltily recalled Kurt's mirror-less room, and her face fell as Kurt vanished around the corner. It was obvious that she'd hurt him, albeit unintentionally, and Catherine mentally kicked herself for being so insensitive. _He thinks himself an aberration already, _she thought morosely. _And I might as well have told him so. I should go talk to him,_ she added, though the prospect of being alone with Kurt again was a little intimidating. _He didn't deserve that…_

If at all possible, Catherine's guilt became even greater as she stood to follow her husband's hasty exit. She felt like the lowest kind of scum: Kurt had only tried to be hospitable, and she'd rewarded his efforts with frosty aloofness. Though he may not have been very likeable, this strange king still had feelings.

And as she emerged into the castle's labyrinthine corridors, Catherine knew, deep down, that his feelings were very, very hurt.

Behind her, two older men glanced curiously at the now-vacant seats.

"What's all that, then?" the first one asked.

"How should I know? There's no comprehending young 'uns these days, especially His Majesty," the other retorted.

_At the same time…_

Kurt barreled down the hallway, filled with anger and self-loathing, and his warped balled into a fist and banged against the hard, unforgiving stones.

His breath was heavy, and Kurt came very close to tears as he stewed in helplessness and rage. "Why did I even bother?" he asked himself bitterly. "I can't even make her feel welcome at my table, and she can't stand the sight of me! How am I supposed to make this work when she sees me as a monster? I try to make her happy instead of keeping her a prisoner, and she _shoves it right back in my face! _GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

In a fit of fury, Kurt seized a suit of armor on display and sent crashing to the floor. His chest heaved. "Polenicus was right…" he moaned quietly. "I'm not ready for this. I'm…just _not…"_

In a particularly spectacular instance of bad timing, Catherine caught up to him at the exact moment he stopped speaking. She had not heard nor seen what just happened, but Kurt's slumped posture told her all she needed to know.

Kurt heard her approaching, and he rounded on her with a scowl on his face. "What? What is it this time, huh? I'm surprised you're even here, since sharing a table with me is so unbearable…" His tone turned bitter. "I spared your father's life when I could have had him killed, you know. I could have done whatever I damn well wanted to you last night, but I didn't because I thought if you just _gave me a chance_ I could prove that I'm not some kind of troll and maybe you'd _stop looking at me like that_ at least." Kurt continued breathlessly. "I thought that if I _showed _ you that I wanted to make this thing work then maybe you'd at least be willing to talk to me and maybe…maybe…"

Any further ranting deserted him as a deep weariness settled in Kurt's bones. "Go away. Just _go_. If you find me so repulsive, I won't make you endure it."

Catherine felt her heart clench, and a fresh wave of guilt made her stomach roil. "I do not know what to say, other than that I am sorry," she said humbly. "It was not my intention to offend you, my lord. I suppose I was just…a little nervous. This is a new place to me, and I was apprehensive of appearing before the court for the first time." Privately, Catherine was bewildered by Kurt's outburst, and though he had talked too fast for her to understand very much, it was now clear that he didn't mean her harm.

Kurt snorted, only slightly convinced as he turned away from her. "Right."

Catherine hesitated for a moment, but then she tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. "My lord…"

He twitched away, and Catherine couldn't help but pity him. "My lord," she repeated, gently turning him round so she could look him in the eye. "Please." What she was pleading for Catherine had no idea, but it was better than saying nothing.

Kurt glanced at her in silent inquiry.

"I will admit that your…_unique _ appearance will take some getting used to," Catherine went on. "But I think I will become more accustomed to it in time. Truly, sire, it was not my intention to trouble you so."

Kurt rose to his full height, and for a moment Catherine thought he was going to hit her-

-But then she blushed as he slowly and hesitantly took her hand in his own. The mutant's furry palms were as soft as fine leather gloves, and Catherine felt her face heat up as Kurt clasped her fingers tightly.

"You're not saying that just to make me feel better, are you?" he asked, a hint of warning in his voice. "If you truly cannot stand me, be honest about with me about it."

"I am not," Catherine stated firmly, gently withdrawing her hand before her face became the color of a cherry. "And I am even more sincere when I say that I am grateful to you for sparing my father…and me."

Kurt tried not to let his relief show, but was only partially successful. "That's good to know," he said finally. "Listen, um, I need to meet with my advisors, but if you want to come…"

"I find politics boring and tedious," Catherine replied with a smirk. "You are more than welcome to it."

"Then you are free to explore," Kurt said. "Please, feel free to take advantage of everything this city has to offer. Just take a few guards with you. Or Mary."

"I shall take Mary, if it pleases you, my lord," Catherine said, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs outside of the palace.

Kurt tried to smile. "Um…you don't need to call me that," he said awkwardly. "Just…just Kurt will do, okay?"

Catherine nodded, seemingly unaware of how close his face was to hers. "Fair enough."

Kurt did not share her ignorance. A part of him was screaming, _kiss her! Kiss her, you idiot! Now's your chance!_

Ultimately, Kurt's timidity won out. "I'll see you later then," he said, his voice rushed. "Um, uh…bye."

Kurt's cloak swirled behind him as he took his leave, but thoughts of kingly matters were far from his mind.

Instead of politics, Kurt's focus was on the opportunity he'd just passed up. As he readied himself for another tense meeting with his counselors, Kurt couldn't help but think:

_I wonder…what would it feel like?_

A/N: Poor Kurt! He should've taken that jump, if you ask me! XD I wanted to get some more fluff in before I introduce my first antagonist, so just bear with me, okay? ^^ And I LOVE reviews! If you have ANY ideas or constructive criticism, I would LOVE to hear it! ^^ Coming up in the next chapter: While Kurt is busy running a kingdom, Catherine meets her match in the beautiful yet vicious Lady Aleera…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	4. Chapter 4

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 4: Lady Aleera! What a Load of Bitch…

Catherine stood in the drafty corridor, listening until Kurt's footsteps faded away. She knew that her husband had more than a few matters to discuss with his counselors and advisors. Being King, apparently, meant that Kurt had to bear the weight of his nation on his shoulders from day to day. The young mutant was expected to run the country's economic system, combat any foreign invaders who ventured into his territory, and keep the infrastructure up and running while constantly looking over his shoulder for anyone who might contest Kurt's claim to the crown. There was always someone else wanting to be King, and Europe had already seen many feudal fiefdoms torn apart between warring factions.

Such treasonous actions were punishable only by death, and the standards of the time dictated that the more gruesome the traitor's demise, the better. A King needed to be hard and remorseless when dispensing judgment.

There was even more to add to Kurt's already-full plate. While a King needed to be politically astute, in those days his most important function was that of a warrior. He had to be swift with a sword, accurate with bow and arrow, deft with the dagger and handy with the halberd. The scar-faced General Valens had taken Kurt into his tutelage, and the King made a habit of honing his skills for several hours every week. And unlike today's generals, a Dark Age ruler did not give orders from the rear and stay behind while his troops attacked; indeed, such practices were looked on as disgraceful and cowardly. Men of these wild times did not pledge their swords and lives to mediocre leaders. No, a King was expected to _lead _his men into battle, to set an example of bravery and valor for his followers. He was to be the first into the fight and the last to leave. Finally, a King must provide for his army, as a well-disciplined fighting needed to be fed and watered regularly, but it is worth noting that such men required nourishment of a very different caliber. The ruler was expected to furnish his men with gold and valuables as the spoils of victory, and anyone who failed to do so faced open insurrection. Kurt had heard of how the Saxon mercenaries had turned against their Briton employers for just such a reason, and so the danger of such rebellion was very real.

Fortunately, the territories Kurt had taken from Catherine's father were not lacking in works of gold and silver.

With such a wide variety of pressures, it is a wonder that kings ever got _anything _done in those days, and Catherine could not help but fret somewhat over the enormous responsibilities her husband was burdened with. It was nothing new to her, hard as these facts may be: indeed, Catherine recalled how her father, King Desiderius, had spent many a night working in his chambers until the candles burned to nothing.

This was not a job for the faint of heart, and Catherine felt somewhat relieved that she was not confronted with such lofty expectations. A Queen, with a few notable exceptions, served just two functions. She was expected to provide an heir to the throne, preferably a son, and if the King died before said heir reached maturity, she was to rule in his stead until the prince (or princess) came of age.

Catherine blushed. She knew perfectly well what "providing an heir" entailed, and though she was now somewhat comfortable in Kurt's presence, she was far from ready for anything like _that_. Whether or not she would even develop feelings for him remained to be seen, as only the lower classes married for love or affection. The nobility and royalty, in contrast, married for convenience or political purposes. Matters of the heart held little place in the court.

"Well, noo, what 'ave we 'ere, eh?" the voice of the indomitable Mary Macleod snapped Catherine out of her reflective mood. "Why, ye look as glum as a t'underclood an' twice 'as 'eavy! Stow that mournful expression, miss, or ye'll 'ave the entire castle down wi' the fluxes!"

Catherine was slightly taken aback. "I'm sorry, Mary," she said. "I was…thinking."

"Aye, well, ye can think later," Mary said briskly, brushing her apron in a futile attempt to banish its ever-present stains. "I'm told 'Is Majesty thinks a turn aboot the city would do ye some good, an' I agree. 'Twon't do fer such a lady to be cooped up in this drafty old place all the time, miss! Let us be oot and aboot whilst the weather's fair, an' leave yer problems 'ere fer a while. I daresay they won't be goin' nowhere."

Catherine nodded. The morning was, indeed, of favorable variety. The omnipresent gray clouds had broken to let the sun shine, and the bitterly cold temperature had lessened somewhat as a result. It was wise, the princess knew, to get the proverbial lay of the land while she still could, and in any case, she had Mary to protect her in the event of any…_troublemakers_.

Catherine smirked. She had no doubt that even Kurt's most hardened soldiers would rather jump from the palace walls rather than go toe-to-toe with Mary. Though she appeared unarmed, Catherine had no doubt that the chambermaid had secured a stiletto or other easily concealed weapon up her sleeve or in her apron's hem.

"Very well," the new Queen agreed. "What shall we see first?"

"I'm of a mind to take a turn aboot the garden," Mary winked. "The Master grows quite a bit o' local flora, though I'm stumped as to how the winter frost 'asn't wiped 'em oot yet. 'Twas 'is father's pride an' joy, ye know," Mary added. "Milord's mother an' father met there for the first time, so I suppose that's why 'e likes to take 'is peace ootside rather than in 'is chambers."

"I see," Catherine murmured. "I would very much like that."

Mary gently steered her down another hallway, and a slight breeze let Catherine know that they were indeed headed outdoors. The sentries that stood like statues at each end stiffened in salute as they went by, and one of them even winked and tried to engage Mary in conversation.

The Scot rewarded his bold efforts with a rolling pin to the head. "Be off wi' ye, an' leave me in peace," she snarled. "I'm of no mind to go aboot doin' _that _dance again! Go on, shoo!"

A well-placed blow to the man's backside sent him scurrying along. Catherine had to struggle to contain her hilarity, and Mary sighed as she stowed the pin in her belt. "Those soldiers are worse than the beasts they ride," she clucked disapprovingly. "No woman worth respectin' would e'er fall fer one o' _them. _Ah, here we are," she sighed happily, taking Catherine through a small side exit. "This was built fer Milord's use, ye know," she informed her. "So 'e can enter an' leave withoot drawin' attention to 'imself. Likes 'is privacy, 'e does, though Lord knows 'ow 'e'll get any now that he's henpecked."

The door made not a sound as Mary pushed it open on its well-oiled hinges, and upon emerging into the sunlight, Catherine had to admit that her servant was right. While flowers and trees normally didn't do well in such hostile weather, Kurt and his ancestors had done a commendable job of cultivating a rather tasteful assortment of hardy flowers and trees. The deep, blue-violet hues of the blue bugleweed, a plant reminiscent of the bluebonnet, swayed almost hypnotically in the cool breeze. Here and there, the daisy-like chamomile seemed to wink cheerily at Catherine, their petals the soft yellow color of newly-churned butter. Lovelier still was the faint scent of heather that hung about the garden; its blooms ranged from pink to light purple and its stalks reached almost a foot in length while permeating the air with its natural perfume. Vines and creepers covered the stone walls and battlements until scarcely a brick was visible to the naked eye, and the merry trilling of birds and fowl made musical accompaniment to the wonder of nature. All in all, it made for a very peaceful and serene atmosphere, and Catherine felt a little better just for having seen it.

She glanced at Mary. "You were right, Mary. I can see why His Majesty likes it here," she said. "It _is_ very peaceful."

Mary snorted and grinned at her. "I am always right," she said matter-of-factly.

_Meanwhile…_

The old saying goes that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. One man's beauty may be another's indescribable monstrosity, as no two people's tastes are the same.

But it was known, as a matter of course, that Lady Aleera of Noxan was the most stunning, ravishing, gorgeous woman in all of Denmark, or mayhap even all of Europe. Hers was the beauty that made men kill brothers and start wars, the kind of almost unnatural grace and perfection that made all others pale in comparison. Her flawless skin, as smooth and white as alabaster, seemed to have been shaped and molded by the hands of the master artisans of old. Her long, sultry eyelashes framed eyes as blue as the cold North Sea, her figure curved and proportioned in just the right places and her impeccably manicured fingernails possessed a sheen of their own. Aleera's palms were as soft as fine feather pillows, her voice as sweet as honey, and her long, flowing tresses as dark as the sky on a clear night. There was not a man in the entire palace who did not desire her, not a single servant or stable boy who would not fawn over her and cater to her every need, and thus did the unnatural beauty live in the lap of luxury, and nothing was denied to her.

But, at the risk of sounding clichéd, looks can be deceiving.

There were few who suspected that Aleera's heart was as black as her hair, burning with avarice and grandiose ambition. She was possessed of a snooty, vicious and self-serving nature to the point that she accepted friendship from none but the mirror in her chambers. Aleera was utterly contemptuous of everyone, from the guards to the nobles to that old fool Polenicus, and felt that her extraordinary looks granted her natural superiority over everyone else. Therefore, it was only logical to her that such a person should sit on Denmark's throne.

Aleera was a cunning, conniving, and unscrupulous individual who owed loyalty to none but herself, and had lent all of her Machiavellian talents toward the Queenship she craved above all else. For years she had plotted in secret, spending hours on coming up with new ways for that freakish King to ask for her hand in marriage.

Do not be so idealistic as to assume Aleera harbored affection of any kind for the naïve young King. She looked at Kurt merely as means to an end, and was perfectly happy to arrange for a series of "tragic accidents" to befall him once Kurt had outlived his usefulness. Everything had almost been in place a month before, but then that idiot had gone and invaded the lands to the south.

When Aleera had learned that Kurt had taken a bride, that all of her scheming and double-dealing was for naught, her heart burned with almost psychopathic hatred for the southern bumpkin who had denied Aleera her lifelong ambition. Her withered, shriveled heart seethed with a desire for vengeance against poor, sweet Catherine, and thus the wicked Aleera had determined to make the new Queen's life as hellish as absolutely possible.

She had no shortage of volunteers for her insidious, petty plan for vengeance. Aleera was not the only lady in court who had desired to be Queen, and her group of so-called "friends" had joined with her in a campaign of bullying to the most fanatical extreme.

Aleera's blue eyes glinted dangerously as she watched Catherine and that insufferable servant Mary stroll about the garden like they owned the place. A wave of pure, unadulterated hatred washed over Aleera, and she reveled in the prospect of driving Catherine away.

The girl to Aleera's right whispered delightedly in her ear. "What should we do to her?"

"Shut up," Aleera snapped back. "Just follow my lead, okay? I need you to get that horrid servant woman away from the King's new whore. I can't get close to her otherwise."

The other girls nodded, their eyes bright with malevolence. "Right!"

_At the same time…_

Mary Macleod couldn't help but smile as Catherine stopped to gather a bundle of local flora. Her intuition had been right on the money, the Scot knew, and a mere trip outside had lifted her new charge's spirits immensely. She went to follow as Catherine rose-

-But a sudden cry from behind a nearby bush caught Mary's attention.

"Help!" a feminine voice cried piteously. "I think I've broken something!"

Catherine was up like a shot. "What's that?"

"Och, take no notice o' all this caterwaulin'," Mary grumbled. "One o' the noble's daughters went an' broke a fingernail, most likely." Her voice turned sarcastic. "Wish a broken nail'd be the least o' me troubles. Those lassies wouldn't last a minute in the castle's kitchens!"

Lifting her skirt hem slightly so as to gain some speed, Mary vanished behind the shrubbery.

The loyal maid never saw the large stick that swung out to greet her. For all her fiery personality, Mary Macleod dropped like a stone.

Aleera smiled smugly. "That should put you in your place, _servant_," she snarled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I some unfinished business with that so-called Queen…"

Catherine, blissfully ignorant of what had just transpired, was occupying herself by plucking flower petals and letting the wind carry them away. She was not a warrior by any stretch, and so it was unfortunate happenstance that her back was turned as Aleera and her cohorts snuck up on her.

Only as the wicked lady's dark shadow fell over her did Catherine sense that something was amiss.

She brushed her brown hair out of her eyes, looking up at the ladies who'd surrounded her in a sinister semicircle. To her credit, Catherine greeted them in as friendly a manner as she could.

"Hello," the princess said, nodding cordially. "I don't believe we've met."

Aleera's voice was a serpentine hiss. "We have _now_," she grated, "and you will be the worse for it! Grab her!"

Four other pairs of arms seized Catherine abruptly, pinning her to the grass as Aleera contemptuously wiped her shoes on the new Queen's dress. Catherine opened her mouth to scream, but Aleera grabbed a fistful of dirt and shoved it into her mouth, thus depriving her victim of speech.

"Dirt," Aleera sneered, kicking Catherine viciously in the ribs as she did so. "Just as you are, country girl. Maybe this will teach you not to steal what belongs to others!"

Catherine gave her a questioning glance, and Aleera's eyes took on a disturbing glint. "_I _wanted to be Queen! _I _deserved the crown, not an uncivilized southern whore like you! You took what _I _wanted, and now I'm going to make you pay for it!"

Aleera dropped to one knee and cupped Catherine's cheek with artificial tenderness. "This is just the beginning," she cooed, her voice dripping with malice and sadistic glee. "I will not rest until you return what you've stolen from me! _I__ WILL BE QUEEN! ME! NOT YOU! __ME__!"_

Then her unstable rant was over, and Aleera backhanded Catherine across the face before signaling her minions to release her. Catherine tried to rise, but her tormentor cruelly kicked her down again. "Stay there, among the worms and insects, where you belong!" she laughed, but then her tone turned deadly. "And if you _dare _to accuse _me _of what happened here, I'll send for my father's guards to kill you in your sleep!"

The wicked noblewoman beckoned to her followers. "Come on, then," she said, her voice toneless. "I grow bored with this sport. Let us seek entertainment elsewhere. See you tomorrow…_Your Majesty! _Heeheehee!"

Catherine spat out the handful of soil Aleera had thrust into her mouth, and her brown eyes smoldered with hurt and rage. She couldn't afford to tell Kurt of what had occurred in the garden, as Aleera would most certainly go through with her death threat. Besides, some fights were best fought by women.

Anger at her mistreatment filled Catherine's chest, and her heart turned steely as she gazed at Aleera's retreating back.

_Very well, then_, Catherine of Prydian thought. _Let the games begin…_

A/N: OH, SNAP! CATFIGHT! Looks like Lady Aleera has it in for our female protagonist, but what troubles are facing young Kurt as he struggles to hold his kingdom together? In the next chapter, we will see the revelation of a deadly traitor, and the dark alliance he makes with Denmark's sworn enemies: the fearsome and barbaric Vikings…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. PLEASE REVIEW! (I would have asked in the above paragraph, but that would have taken away from the dramatic effect. And I apologize for the false alert for Ch. 5, as I was replacing content for chapter four and hit the wrong button. XD)


	5. Chapter 5

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 5: Treachery Afoot!

While Catherine was declaring all-out war on the vicious Lady Aleera, young Kurt was dealing with problems of his own. Before the meeting with his advisors even began, he could feel a dull ache beginning to throb between his temples, as the sheer volume of material that needed to be discussed seemed overwhelming.

All present stood respectfully as Kurt entered his court, and a moment of silence was observed as the new King took a seat upon his elaborately carved wooden throne. The silver circlet glittered in the light of the torches that burned in their sconces, and Kurt ignored his growing migraine as he signaled for the meeting to begin.

At this, the scar-faced General Valens cleared his throat. "I bring news from our southern acquisitions, my lord," he said.

Kurt waved impatiently. "Go on," he replied. "I'm listening."

Valens clasped his arms behind his back. "The cities of Vejle and Esbjerg are still under our control, sire, as are all the lands surrounding them. Denmark belongs to you, Your Majesty."

"And how have the locals been taking this?" Kurt made no attempt to hide his suspicion. "Surely such an abrupt change of rulers would make them restless."

"Your assumption is wise, sire, but erroneous," Valens responded. "Most of the Prydian army was destroyed in the field, and many of the enemy's best generals and officers fell with them. If there is indeed a rebellion fomenting, which I doubt, then it will have no experienced military personnel to lead it. Without their fighting strength, the southerners have largely resigned themselves to your rule. There have been a few…_exceptions_," the old soldier added carefully. "But these have been suitably dealt with."

Kurt knew full well what Valens meant. In medieval politics, "dealing" with rebellion and treachery was usually done from the business end of an axe. "Fair enough," Kurt said, suppressing a slight grimace. "Anything else that I should know about?"

Valens coughed politely into his fist. "May I speak freely, sire?"

"Always," Kurt nodded. "Your service to this kingdom deserves no less."

The general took the compliment in stride. "While Denmark is united," he said, "the fact is that we simply do not have enough soldiers to keep order, Your Majesty. Already, the forests to the west have been infested with highwaymen and bandits who raid and plunder at will. The army is too small to patrol every inch of Denmark." Valens held out his palms beseechingly. "I need more men."

"Then you shall have them," Kurt said. "Send riders and messengers to every village and city south of Arthus. There is a large population there, you know; doubtless the prospect of soldiering will appeal to any man down on his luck. You are very well known in Denmark, Valens, for fairness and leadership among your men. I have no doubt that there are former Prydians who would serve under you."

Murmurs filled the chamber. What Kurt said was true enough, after all. Valens had always taken great pains to feed and pay his soldiers regularly. The King was counting on the appeal of such things to draw in new recruits. It was a strategy that had always worked before.

"I shall, sire," Valens nodded dutifully, before his report took on a different tone. "Finally, there is the matter of the Vikings, your majesty. These Norsemen pose a significant threat to us, largely due to their close proximity-"

"Preposterous!" A short, balding man snorted. "The Vikings have been disorganized and disunited since Harold Hadrada's death in England over thirty years ago!"

A tall, spindly fellow agreed. "They have been too busy killing each other in a bid for the throne ever since! Why should they bother us now?"

Kurt raised his hand. "Enough," he said quietly.

Silence was instantaneous.

The young regent wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. "It is true," he murmured, "that the Vikings have largely ceased to be a threat since Hadrada's demise. But even so, I don't think it would be wise to take any chances with them. You have all heard the tales of the Vikings' cruelty."

Everyone within earshot shuddered.

"If the Norsemen are foolish enough to invade us," Kurt said firmly, "I have no intention of being caught napping. It is my decision that every village and city less than a league from a riverbank or within reach of the coasts be fortified in the event of an attack."

Polenicus nodded, impressed. "What would you have us do, sire?"

"I have heard tell of a generous deposit of stone near the village of Radas," Kurt continued. "Valens, you will take a force of soldiers and establish a quarry there. If you do not have the necessary manpower to do the job by yourselves, the locals may assist you."

Kurt's voice took on a warning tone. "Do not be mistaken that these people are to be used as slaves," he said. "Pay them for their work, Valens, and pay them well. Polenicus will provide you with a lump sum from the treasury if you need additional funding."

"What is to be the nature of these fortifications?" A tiny courtier named Boreas squeaked.

Kurt smiled wryly. "I am still new to the throne," he admitted. "I believe Valens is well-versed in such matters. I defer to his expertise."

"As you wish, my lord," Valens bowed.

A handsome, younger nobleman with hair so blonde as to be almost white, sniffed disdainfully. "I fail to see the benefit of protecting _commoners_," he said, spitting out the word like a rotten tomato. "Let the Vikings have them! We should focus on protecting _ourselves_, not the rabble!"

Kurt spared a steely glance in his direction. "Your selfish opinions are neither justified nor warranted in this court," he growled. "Those so-called 'rabble' are depending on _us _to protect them. I, for one, do not intend to fail my people."

Another rather youthful courtier, who'd remained silent until now, spoke up in support of his King. "His Majesty is right," he said. "I would not wish the Vikings' barbarism on anyone. The very thought of those animals makes my stomach turn."

"Thank you, Salazar," Kurt said, nodding gratefully before turning a stern glare at all and sundry. "If any of you are so conceited that you would put your own safety above your country, then the door is right over there. You may use it."

Not a single person moved.

"All right, then," Kurt said with a small sigh. His migraine was growing unbearable. "Let's move on to the next order of business, shall we?"

_Much later…_

It was with an empty stomach and a throbbing head that the weary Kurt finally emerged from his grueling and tedious meeting. The shadow Kurt cast as he strode past the long, stained-glass windows was long and narrow, and the sun was low in the sky as his tail swished behind him. Even Kurt's garnet-studded crown drooped on his head, mirroring the weariness its wearer felt, and Kurt could not help but laugh to himself as he thought of all the fools who craved his position.

As if summoned by the noise, the loyal Polenicus seemed to materialize at his master's side. His hands bore a clay cup that sent a continuous wisp of steam into the air, but Kurt turned up his nose at the smell the brew gave off.

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Do I even want to know what you used to make that?"

"Not really," Polenicus admitted. "But I daresay that it will help with the headache you're probably feeling right about now. The first few years of a king's reign are always the hardest, you know."

"So it seems," Kurt agreed, taking a perfunctory sip. "Blech! I think I'd rather just put up with the headache than force down this gut-rot! Even the vultures wouldn't touch this!"

"I doubt that," Polenicus riposted merrily. "The vultures will eat anything. And you _must _drink this, Sire, every drop. I spent over an hour this morning gathering the ingredients, you know, and this tonic is a proven miracle for aches and pains. Those fellows over in England and France would probably fall all over themselves to get the recipe for it."

"Fine, fine, fine," Kurt grumbled, but his posture brought to mind a son obeying a kind but stern father. Kurt considered Polenicus no less. The kindly old man had raised his liege from birth, and so the two shared an almost familial relationship. They were far more than mere master and servant.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Kurt asked uncertainly. "About the Vikings, I mean. I can't help but worry that all of this preparation will be for nothing."

"Your decision was very wise, actually," Polenicus disagreed. "It is exactly what I would have done." A proud smile crossed the courtier's face. "You will make a fine King, Kurt."

Kurt grinned back. "I had an excellent teacher."

"Might I inquire how your more…_personal_ affairs are going?" Polenicus asked. "I heard you left the feast hall quite abruptly this morn, Sire. What happened?"

Kurt couldn't help but blush slightly. "It was, um, a misunderstanding, that's all. We- the princess and I- cleared everything up."

Polenicus shook his head, secretly appalled by just how utterly _clueless _his king was where women were concerned. "I see," he said, straight-faced. "And what was the origin of this misunderstanding?" The old man's voice turned a little bit stern. "I trust you did not let your more…_base _instincts get the better of you the previous evening?"

Kurt's face heated up to such a degree that one could have toasted marshmallows on his cheeks. "N-No!" he said, a little outraged. "Of course not! Nothing happened, Polenicus! I slept on the rug, for crying out loud!"

"I'm glad to hear it," Polenicus said serenely. "Though I will admit that I _was _somewhat concerned at first. She is quite lovely, after all."

"Y-Yeah," Kurt stammered, his mind still reeling. "I…I guess she is."

"How is she adjusting?" the old took that opportunity to gracefully change the subject.

Kurt's shoulders sagged in relief. "I had Mary show her around," he said, somewhat more cheerfully. "They should be back soon, I think."

"I hope that woman didn't bring her rolling pin again," Polenicus groaned. "She gave someone a concussion with that thing once, you know. The poor man bumped into her while Mary was carrying some fresh laundry." The courtier's voice turned sad. "He was in the castle infirmary for three whole days before I could discharge him."

Kurt snorted, desperately trying not to burst into peals of laughter. "Sounds like Mary, all right," he choked.

While the young King and his advisor jested and talked in the palace's maze of halls and corridors, the setting sun turned the sky into an expanse the color of fresh blood. The fiery orb seemed like a glaring eye as it slowly sank below the horizon, and its burning heat cast an almost foreboding air on the countryside.

It was fitting, then, that such sinister-looking weather provided the backdrop to a scene of treachery.

The royal palace's iron gate clanked and clacked open like a great maw of iron, and the frenzied rush of the rider's horse sent up a cloud of dust and dirt in his wake. The steed whinnied and tossed its head, its eyes widening fearfully, and the mysterious man clasping the reins used his boots to spur the animal on to ever-greater efforts. The black stallion veritably flew across the scenic Danish countryside.

Describing the night rider would be a pointless exercise, for he had heavily disguised himself to conceal his identity. A long, brown habit with wide sleeves swallowed up his arms and legs, and the horseman's hands were hidden under a pair of leather gloves. The habit's hood shadowed all of his facial features save for his eyes, which glinted like twin stars of evil in the light of the setting sun.

This man did well to hide his true face, for it would not do for his plot to be discovered. The brown robes he wore billowed and flowed in a burst of wind, and a sharp tug on the horse's halter sent it veering on a different course as soon as he was clear of any prying eyes. Rather than staying to the road, the horseman steered his mount into the woods on his left, and the trees flew by in a blur as the moon began to rise.

The traitor knew this route well. He'd taken it several times before. The air became salty and cool as both man and beast approached the safety of Denmark's wild, sparsely inhabited eastern coast. Farther and farther into the wilderness he went, and the silvery orb that cast its sparse light upon him was high in the sky by the time he reached the rendezvous point.

A single glance told him that this was, indeed, the place where the fearsome Vikings had made a temporary encampment. A shudder raced down the traitor's spine as he dismounted, and the patronizing and glowering expressions of the barbarians told him that he was far from welcome here.

But what these men thought hardly mattered. Their Chieftain called the shots around here.

With a scroll in hand, the mysterious man hurried past the tents and campfires, looking for all the world like a fish in the midst of sharks.

Such an expression, however, was hardly fitting for someone of such dreaded repute as the brutal individual who led these barbarians. The betrayer bowed politely before entering his tent, and even with his back turned the Viking war leader was a giant.

His long, wild blonde hair spilled out from a metal helmet that was pocked and scarred from battles past, and the dreadlocks dirty, unkempt appearance only added to the overpowering air of menace this Norseman had about him. He wore a great cloak of fur fastened around his metal shoulder plates, and this armor was given added lethality by the conical spikes that protruded from them. His great beard, as vast as the fjords of his homeland, covered most of his face and even the upper part of his chest, and this was decoratively braided and twined with beads of coral and wood. The Viking's arms were so muscular and rippling with strength that even the most hardened bodybuilder would turn green with envy, and his meaty legs supported him like a pair of mighty oaks. The Chieftain's feet were clad in boots of hard, ragged leather, and their bloodstained soles gave testament to his unspeakable brutality. In one giant hand, the barbarian held a leg of turkey, which he gnawed on like a ravenous dog. In the other, he clutched an enormous, double-bladed war axe, and its sheer weight was so colossal that only this man, this savage, could wield it. Everything about this individual exuded crudeness and foreboding, cruelty and malice.

Thus was the mighty Viking lord, known and feared across all of Europe as the savage Gurz.

Now, Gurz turned to his spy, and a large bag of gold _clinked _as he tossed it over his shoulder. With a grunt of effort, he got down on one knee, so that the two men were face-to-face.

"Now," Gurz rumbled. "Tell me everything…"

A/N: TRAITOR! Who _is _the mysterious betrayer? What diabolical plots does Gurz have in mind? And will Catherine triumph over her archnemesis, Lady Aleera? Find out in coming chapters! And as always, PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or constructive criticism, LET ME KNOW! I would LOVE to hear what _you _have to say! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	6. Chapter 6

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men: Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 6: A Deposed Monarch! King Desiderius!

In keeping with Denmark's typical wild and unpredictable weather, the beautiful sunset that evening had promptly given way to a raging storm. Endless clouds of the darkest black obscured the sky like a blanket of thick dark ink, and the giant, ominous-looking clouds swirled and rolled like a great black cloak. Freezing raindrops as big as marbles fell in saturating sheets as thunder made the air shake with its deafening roar, as though the very heavens were being torn asunder. Mighty trees were snapped like toothpicks by the gale-force winds, which screamed like a thousand wounded men as Mother Nature vented her boundless fury upon the land.

Thankfully, the city of Arthus had been solidly built. Its sturdy houses and buildings of wood and brick weathered the storm bravely, and through the raindrops that gathered in puddles on the city streets, the royal palace laid dark and foreboding in the city's center, a silhouette that was occasionally visible through the lightning that spewed from the skies above. It was at once a sight both comforting in its familiarity, yet ominous in its almost Gothic architecture. As its spires and cornices towered over the metropolis, it left the people of Denmark in no doubt as to who ruled this land.

Perched menacingly in various grotesque poses, the hideous stone gargoyles perched on the walltops gushed water from their gaping, fanged mouths in streams and sheets, and the soft orange glow of hallway torches and merrily blazing fires through its long glass windows could be seen from a considerable distance. Though the furious tempest drummed a relentless tattoo on both the ancient battlements and the shivering sentries who patrolled them, the mighty castle stood safe and secure. Its shingled rooftops and soaring arches protected those who dwelled within its walls, as they had through time immemorial.

Though the palace stood firm, the ongoing gales served only to deepen Catherine of Prydian's rapidly darkening temperament.

Though the young Queen was sweet and kindly by nature and would gladly give her last crust to a person in need, the almost psychotic maliciousness with which Lady Aleera had treated her made seething anger boil in Catherine's veins. She knew she couldn't tell her…_husband _about what had occurred in the garden that afternoon, as Lady Aleera seemed very willing, almost eager in fact, to snap her fingers and have a spear driven through Catherine's rib cage while she slumbered. No, Catherine resolved silently, she would have to beat her arch-rival by herself, with assistance from none for fear of injury.

Well, none except Mary. The fiery Scot had not taken the assault on her person well. Mary had, in point of fact, spent the rest of the day ranting and describing in lurid detail the tortures she would inflict upon Aleera and her cohorts. When her temper calmed, however, the chambermaid was only too happy to assist Catherine in her bid to squash Aleera's ambitions.

Such a thing would not be easy. Aleera's cunning was by far her greatest strength, and it was only logical that the only way to beat the wicked heiress was to outsmart her, to take her schemes and turn them against her.

Catherine's fists clenched. There _would _be a reckoning, she promised herself silently. Aleera's unbelievable cruelty and selfishness would _not _go unpunished.

So absorbed was Catherine in her fantasies of vengeance that she never heard Kurt padding softly up to her, his tail twitching like a snake as he matched his pace to her own.

"Um…" Kurt took a moment to find his voice. "How was your day? Did you, uh, enjoy yourself?"

_Far from it,_ Catherine thought, but she plastered on a smile. "Yes…_Kurt_," she nodded, remembering that she was now allowed to address him with familiarity. "Your home is… very impressive."

Kurt shrugged, still unsure of himself. "Uh, yeah," he muttered, feeling stupid. "It's…very big."

Catherine arched an eyebrow at him, and Kurt cringed inwardly. "Are you hungry?" he asked, desperate to save face. "I've had the cook roast a whole pig this evening, so there should be plenty to eat."

The young woman took a moment to summon her courage. "Not really," she admitted. "But I would very much like to visit my father. You promised me this morning that I could visit him," Catherine added, reminding Kurt of his words that morning.

She had no way of knowing that Kurt practically fell all over himself in his bid to acquiesce. "Of course," he inclined his head slightly, trying to hide his haste. "I'll take you there myself."

The young King offered her his arm, and Catherine hesitated momentarily before linking her own arm through it. "Thank you," she said, and meant it. "I...I am glad to know that he is still alive."

"Valens wanted me to have him killed," Kurt admitted, steering Catherine down a winding flight of stairs. "But I didn't really see any point." _And I didn't want to upset you, _he added silently.

The air became dank and musty as the two of them descended into the belly of the proverbial beast, and the sound of dripping water, coupled with the growing darkness, only added to the subterranean feel of the place.

Kurt nodded to a chainmail-clad sentry, who stood stiffly to attention. "How is he?" the king asked.

The guard replied promptly in fine military fashion. "He seems well, sir. The jailer brought his food down less than an hour ago?"

"Good man," Kurt rewarded him with an approving smile, before beckoning for Catherine to follow.

Though she moved to comply, Catherine's progress down the seemingly never-ending stairwell was halted when the guard placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"It may interest you, milady," the soldier said, "that His Majesty gave very specific orders on how your father was to be treated."

For a moment, pure fear and dread suffused the new Queen, but any such feelings vanished instantly as the guard continued. "It was milord's wish that Desiderius be put in a dry cell, aye, and to be fed regularly. He's even been given clean straw to lie on."

Catherine was somewhat confused. "_He _ordered this?"

"Oh, yes," the sentry replied, nodding vigorously. "I just thought it might put your mind somewhat at ease, milady."

"Then you assumed correctly," Catherine told him, her shoulders sagging in relief.

Kurt poked his head back around the corner. "Well, come on then!" he said, somewhat impatiently. "I haven't got all day, you know!"

She suppressed a giggle at the almost petulant note in Kurt's voice, and Catherine hurried down the corkscrew-shaped stairwell as fast as her dress enabled her. The young woman's efforts were rewarded when she came to a long and very old-looking row of cells. These dungeons, Catherine decided, had obviously been constructed some time ago. Some of the bars had already corroded to half of their original length.

Kurt motioned for her to join him, a somewhat hesitant look on his face. "Um…Do you mind if I have a word with him?" he asked. "I…I need to make sure I know where his allegiances lie before I release him."

"Release him?" Catherine asked, hope flaring up inside of her. "Why did you not tell me?"

Her husband looked sheepish. "I wanted to surprise you," he muttered. "Could you wait here for a moment."

Catherine looked at him uncertainly, and Kurt felt somewhat hurt at her rather accusing glance.

"I won't hurt him," he promised forcefully. "There's no point in keeping him down here anymore, to be perfectly honest. I just…I just…"

Kurt's mind finished the sentence for him. _I just wanted to let him know that you're okay._

Such was the earnestness in the young king's voice that Catherine's doubts vanished. Though Kurt may have been many things, he was a _very _poor liar. "Okay," she said finally, but her eyes said much, much more. The implicit message in those chocolate-covered pupils made Kurt's heart soar.

_I trust you, _those clear eyes said.

He smiled, and the sight of those fangs was still a little bit unnerving, but much less so than their previous encounter. "I'll be right back," Kurt assured her, vanishing into the darkness beyond the torches' glow.

So exhilarated was he that Kurt veritably flew down the wet, slime-encrusted hallway, and he arrived at the place of Desiderius' incarceration somewhat out of breath.

"Are you really in such a rush to torment a helpless old man?" a weary voice asked. This was followed by a grunt of effort as Desiderius rose from a sitting position, and he straightened his back with a groan.

"I wish you'd send that healer fellow down here," Catherine's father said. "My old joints are creaking like a rusty gate."

"I'll have him take a look at you," Kurt said, trying not to let his face betray the guilt he was feeling.

Desiderius smiled bitterly at him and stepped into the sparse lantern light. "I know you will, boy. Do you think I'm so naïve that I am not aware of what happens next? You are looking to my best interests so I will be in a healthy state for my execution. You intend to have me killed, so your rule over my people will go unchallenged."

"Wrong," Kurt replied quietly. "You're free to go, old man. If you swear fealty to me, if you give me your word as a King and a warrior that you will not go stirring up trouble, then I will let you walk out of here."

"Right," Desiderius snorted. "And where does my daughter come into play? Will it be _her _neck if I refuse?"

"Actually, that's the _real _reason that I came down here," Kurt said matter-of-factly. "I promised Catherine that she could come visit. If that's okay with you, I mean."

"What's the catch, boy?" Desiderius smirked.

Kurt put up his hands in the universal gesture of goodwill. "No tricks. No catch. No strings. Catherine is right down the hall."

Desiderius' face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he nodded so frantically that Kurt feared his head would pop right off. "She means the world to me! Please, let me see her!"

Kurt motioned for Catherine to join them with a wave of his wrist, and he couldn't help but feel like an intruder as father and daughter had a rather touching reunion.

Tears of relief spilled down Catherine's cheeks as she took her father's hand and clasped it tightly. Desiderius, overcome with emotion, spared Kurt a pleading glance.

"Please," he said simply. "Would you…give us a minute?"

"Of course," Kurt complied hastily. "I'll, uh, be down the hall." His tail thrashed as the king beat an awkward retreat. Having never known his own parents, it was only natural for the young King to feel out of place in such a situation.

Desiderius waited until Kurt was out of earshot, and he tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Catherine's face. "Oh, my girl," he moaned. "My sweet, precious daughter…What has he done to you?"

Catherine's voice choked. "I…I've been better," she admitted. "This place, this city, is all strange and frightening to me. I am still trying to get used to it."

"And that…_monstrous _husband of yours, as well," Desiderius growled, his body shaking with helpless rage. "I have had many sleepless nights in this cell after I heard the news, Catherine. I can't even bear the thought of what he's done to you, of what he _did _to you…"

Catherine's cheeks turned pink. "Actually, Father," she cleared her throat. "My lord did no such thing. Though I doubt you will believe it, he actually slept on the floor rather than distress me."

Desiderius stared. "You're joking."

"I am not," Catherine insisted. "Though I am still somewhat wary of him, he _has _tried to ease my…_transition _here. My lord is very bizarre in his appearance, Father, but I no longer believe he wishes me harm."

Desiderius slumped, as if a colossal weight had been lifted from his aged shoulders. Catherine laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Is it true?" she asked softly. "Is he going to let you go?"

"Of course," the old man snorted. "Provided I renounce any claims to my throne and take an oath of fealty to him. I have no intention of doing either. I am a King, and I would rather die as such than live a vassal."

"No!" Catherine began to cry afresh. "Please, Father, you _must!_ I-we-have lost so much already!" Her voice grew solemn. "I could not bear to watch you lay your head under the executioner's axe, Father. You are all I have left!"

Such was his daughter's distress that Desiderius' normally iron will was swayed as easily as sheet of paper in a fresh breeze. Though death was preferable to his current situation, the thought of bringing such grief and sadness upon his only child made Desiderius resolve to swallow his pride. He would live, for Catherine if for no other reason.

"It will be a cup of sour wine to swallow," he sighed wearily. "But so be it. For you, my child, I shall submit to Wagnerius."

Catherine hugged him as best she could through the bars. "Thank you, Father."

Any further conversation was brought to an abrupt, screeching halt as Kurt and the guard from before came clanking noisily down the filthy stone floor. The sentry bore a ring of heavy keys in his hand, and Kurt waited respectfully for his new bride and father-in-law to finish their embrace. Again, the young regent felt extremely awkward, and he coughed politely into his fist to make himself noticed.

Kurt's golden eyes bore in Desiderius' with the force of a high-powered drill.

"Shall I remove these shackles?" he asked, his voice serious.

Desiderius took a moment to stuff a variety of scathing responses back down his throat. His wrists made considerable noise as the iron chains were lifted up the ground.

The old man's tone was equally forceful. "Treat her right, _boy_," he said simply.

"You have my word," Kurt inclined his head as a gesture to show his sincerity, and the guard unlocked both the door and the chains in one fluid movement.

"I'll have Polenicus give you a room," Kurt told Catherine's father. "You may visit your daughter whenever you wish, on the condition that you inform me beforehand."

"Fair enough," Desiderius answered, trying valiantly to keep his tone civil as he rubbed his sore and chafing arms and legs. The guard took his arm gently but firmly and began leading the vanquished king up the stairs.

Catherine watched him go. "I am very grateful," she murmured. "Thank you…_Kurt_, for sparing my father's life."

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, it seemed kind of pointless, you know? Just leaving him here seemed kinda heartless. And I knew you'd want to visit him…"

She smiled, and it was the first _real _smile Catherine had given anyone since coming to the palace. Kurt's brain shot off a volley of fireworks as she gently took his arm again.

"You know something?" Catherine said. "I believe I have rediscovered my appetite…"

A/N: Awww… Looks like Kurt really DOES care! XD In the next chapter, we meet the one man among the nobility whom Kurt counts as a friend! (Other than Polenicus, of course!) And PLEASE REVIEW! If _you _have ANY ideas or constructive criticism on how I can make this story better, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	7. Chapter 7

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 7: A Most Dastardly Plot!

Catherine of Prydian stifled a yawn as the indomitable Mary Macleod yanked the sheets off the bed. "Get up, lazybones," the chambermaid said cheerily, pulling the curtains aside. "Ye'll sleep the whole day away if'n ye don't get oota bed soon, mark m'words, miss!"

Catherine sat up groggily. "Where is Kurt?"

" 'Tis a verra good question, lass," Mary snorted. "I don' even know myself 'alf the time. 'E's probably dealin' wi' kingly matters of some sort, mos' likely. Now get oota the bed afore I sling a pail o' water on ye! Up, up, up! The day's a-wastin', and payback waits for no woman!"

"Fine," Catherine grumbled, wincing as her feet touched the cold stone floor. The thought of soundly thrashing Lady Aleera got the young Queen galvanized as she slipped into the tub. The water, as always, was steaming hot, but the pleasant experience was lessened somewhat as Mary scrubbed Catherine thoroughly with a hard, bristly brush. Bubbles of expensive soap made the young woman's eyes water, and Mary made casual conversation as she hustled and bustled about.

"I 'ope those pillows didnae keep ye up all night," Mary said. "I told that miserable excuse fer tailor that the material wasnae right at all, but that sack-stitcher woundnae know good sewing if it fell oot of a tree an' hit 'im o'er the noggin! I'd do it meself, if'n I 'ad the time, but then there's always somethin' else that needs doin' 'roond this place."

"Why not ask Kurt?" Catherine inquired. "You're working yourself to death, Mary! It wouldn't hurt for him to give you a day off once in a while!"

"Nay," Mary grinned, winking at her. "Someone or other 'as got to keep this drafty old castle in order, an' milord knows that I'm the only one 'oo can keep it runnin'. The whole kingdom'd fall apart wi'oot me, an' that's the truth!"

Catherine giggled. "Fair enough," she said, emerging from the tub with a soft _splash_. Mary hurried to gather a set of clothes, and Catherine took a moment to adjust to the scarlet dress that she now wore. It was the color of fresh blood, its seams made of black thread for a tasteful contrast, and Mary nodded in satisfaction as she looked Catherine over.

"Noo, don' ye jest look a pretty picture? Ye'll 'ave every eye in Denmark followin' ye whilst ye walk aboot the palace!"

"I hope not," Catherine grinned. "I am…already married."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Like _that'll _stop 'em. C'mon, then, miss," she added, taking her charge's arm. "Best get ye a bite to eat afore it's all gone. I spent over an hour takin' a batch o' fresh loaves oot o' the oven, and it'd be a sore disappointment if'n ye didnae git to try 'em."

"I'm sure they're delicious," Catherine agreed, falling in step with Mary as their footfalls echoed in vast castle. The dining hall was only a few corridors away, and the smells of fresh food left Catherine in little doubt as to Mary's culinary prowess.

Unfortunately, any thoughts of food and drink were dissipated like smoke on the wind as a third pair of feet began following them. Catherine glanced at Mary uneasily.

"It's Aleera, isn't it?" she murmured.

"Mos' likely," the chambermaid whispered back.

The muted exchange was not lost upon Catherine's tormentor. She picked up her pace to catch up with her intended victims, and her delicate nails were just centimeters away from grasping Catherine's hair-

-But to Aleera's surprise and dismay, Catherine abruptly turned sideways just as Aleera increased her momentum. The brown locks Aleera had tried to rip from Catherine's scalp _swish _as the princess sidestepped the blow, and Aleera shrieked as she tripped and fell flat on her face. The remorseless stone floor sent stars spinning in the wicked heiress's vision, and Mary took this opportunity to add another dent to her infamous rolling pin. The wooden cooking instrument gave a resounding and satisfying _thwack _as it collided with Aleera's skull.

"THAT'S fer knockin' me oot t'other day, ye vicious, connivin' she-troll!" Mary snarled. "Mayhap it'll knock some sense into ye!"

Had her mind been clear and lucid, Aleera would have shot to her feet and shouted for the castle guards to assist her. Mayhap she could have had Mary killed for striking her so, but right now Aleera's twisted brain was far from being clear. Instead of screaming, she continued to lay sprawled on the floor, raging and squeaking in spastic fury. Aleera's legs and arms thrashed and pounded the worn stones in a manner befitting of a toddler's temper tantrum, and the beautiful dark hair that was so meticulously combed became frizzy and messy as she raged with helpless fury that would have merited a trip to the psychologist.

Catherine stared down at her. "It seems you lost your balance," she said coolly. "Perhaps you would do well to watch where you're stepping."

Aleera lifted her head, and her beautiful face was twisted into an ugly mask of hate. "You'll pay for this," she spat.

"Aye, but not now, an' not today," Mary retorted.

"Maybe you should just lay there for a while," Catherine suggested, straight-faced. "I'm sure you'd find the rats and cockroaches to be agreeable company."

Mary sniggered furiously, and Catherine grinned fiercely as the two resumed their sojourn to the dining hall.

"You're right," she said. "That _did _feel rather satisfying."

"Aye," Mary winked back. "No fancy-arse wine can be sweeter than _this._ Though I hear milord will be servin' a fine selection at his ball tomorrow eve."

"What?" Catherine's eyes widened. "What ball?"

"He's not told ye?" Mary shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Mayhap 'e wanted it to be a surprise. Though I daresay ye'll steal the show wi' those good looks o' yourn."

"Maybe," Catherine said uncertainly.

"Don't be such a sourpuss!" Mary scolded her. "Ye'll 'ave a grand, excitin' time, mark me words!"

_Meanwhile, at the Vikings' encampment…_

The mighty Gurz scowled darkly, which was by far the most common facial expression he displayed. His huge hand strayed toward the terrible axe that was always within reach, and the hooded and robed informant shuddered visibly as Gurz stroked the weapon like a beloved pet.

The savage gently licked the axe's edge, as if he could already taste blood. "Speak your piece," he said quietly. "What news do you bring me from the city of Arthus? When can we march and lay siege to its walls? When?"

The traitor's voice took on a dithering tremble. "Might One…I fear that a lightning campaign will no longer be sufficient to achieve our goals. That abomination of a king is not a fool, my lord; even now, his army is mobilizing to fortify his lands against such men as you."

"WHAT?" Gurz kicked the campfire and sent hot ashes spraying everywhere in a burning rain. His knuckles turned white as he grabbed the spy by his throat, hoisting right off the ground as if the traitor weighed nothing.

"You betray your King, and now you betray me," Gurz snarled. "I should have expected no less from you."

The spy shook his head as best he could in the grip that was crushing his windpipe. "Garrrrrk…Wasn'…meeee…" he rasped, his face turning blue.

Gurz hesitated. He knew, as a matter of course, that most men's last words tended to be truthful. If the betrayer really thought his end was near, then it was likely that the masked man was speaking the truth. His sausage-like fingers released his victim, and the betrayer sobbed for breath as he landed unceremoniously on his rump in the snow.

Gurz kicked him cruelly. "Get up, you sniveling wretch," he spat. "And tell me all. Speak truly, or I will carve out your lying tongue and feed it to my dogs."

"Yes, yes, of course," the traitor said hastily, regaining his balance. "Wagnerius, unlike the fools who serve him, is not entirely convinced that your illustrious nation poses no threat to his. He has ordered practically every city and town within a stone's throw of water extensively fortified for just such a purpose. I do not believe that it is possible to take them by surprise anymore."

Gurz felt his blood pressure rise, and he resisted the urge to slice the man in two. The Vikings' entire plan rested on a swift, fast campaign up Denmark's many rivers and along the coasts, but this new King had unwittingly scuttled the entire strategy!

It is worth noting that while Gurz and his warriors were savage and fearsome fighters, their uncoordinated and wild battle strategies would not hold up against a seasoned, professional army. These Norsemen, while formidable, simply lacked the discipline to take on Kurt's army, or any other. They were raiders, not full-time soldiers.

The Vikings had learned all of this to their great sorrow at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in England, more than three decades ago. It was there that their great King, the mighty Harold Hadrada, had fallen in battle. Common legend held that Hadrada had refused to retreat in the face of a vastly superior force, thus sealing is own doom.

Gurz had no intention of repeating the late monarch's catastrophic mistake.

In true warlord fashion, he swiftly passed the blame to his informant. "That is not what I paid you for! YOU were supposed to make sure we could sail inland unopposed! This setback is YOUR fault!"

The betrayer looked Gurz right in the eye, and his voice became rather insolent. "Oh, is that right? Well, it's rather difficult to control things like that when someone else sits on Denmark's throne, Gurz! There was nothing I could do, and you know it! You are simply unwilling to admit that Wagnerius has won this round, so you can avoid losing face with your so-called warriors!

The mystery man continued. "The fact is that your men are not trained to handle Wagnerius' army, Gurz! I know it, and so do you! Kill me if you like, Viking! It will not make you right!"

Rage smoldered from Gurz's every pore. "Don't tempt me," he grated, gripping the haft of his axe tightly. Never had he wanted to kill another human being so badly. The shining, curved blades of his weapon glinted in the noon-day sun…

Gurz closed his eyes tightly and slowly returned the axe to his waist. As pleasurable as it would be to slice this dolt in half, the Viking lord knew he couldn't take the city of Arthus without help from inside. Its defenses were too formidable to penetrate otherwise.

The Norseman split into a small smile beneath his vast, blonde beard. Gurz rarely ever smiled, but those who knew him would swear that when such an expression split his face, someone else was about to be very, very sad. "If there is an obstacle, I suppose we should just get rid of it," Gurz said thoughtfully. "I cannot have this boy mucking up everything."

"What are you suggesting?" the traitor asked.

"Simple," Gurz replied, drawing a small dagger with a very thin blade from his belt. The knife was meant to be easily concealable, and its long, thin point enabled it to penetrate deeply and easily into the human body. With a flick of his wrist, Gurz sent the dagger spinning into his fellow conspirator's palm.

"Careful with that," the Viking warned. "The tip is poisoned with venom more deadly than the most venomous snake! Against this toxin, even the mightiest king cannot stand.

"Kill Wagnerius," Gurz concluded. "and do it as soon as the opportunity arises. I want him dead before he impedes us any further."

The traitor, his identity still unknown, bowed deeply. "I know of just such an opportunity. His Majesty is having a grand ball tomorrow night. I may just slip past him and prick his finger by accident."

The Viking leader closed his eyes. "And once he's dead…"

The betrayer finished Gurz's sentence. "Denmark will _fall._"

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! Looks like the dance will be a night to remember! Will Gurz succeed in his nefarious ends? Who _is _the mysterious traitor? And what challenges lie ahead for young Kurt as he struggles with the duties of a King? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! I would LOVE to hear what _you _have to say on how I can make this story better! (I know this is a bit shorter than usual, but I needed a filler before the REAL fun begins!)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. To Indigo-Night-Wisp: You hit the nail on the head, my friend. XD


	8. Chapter 8

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

_(A/N: I'm going to go ahead and admit that even after over an hour's research, my knowledge of old-fashioned dancing amounts to little. So if my descriptions of the dancing scene are not as accurate as they could be, I apologize, and hope the inconsistencies are not TOO noticeable. XD Also, I think the song, "Forbidden Friendship" from the movie "How to Train Your Dragon goes REALLY well with the part where Catherine and Kurt are dancing. Seriously, you should go to Youtube right now and load it before you begin reading. It adds to the effect, in my opinion. If you don't Mary will find you…^^)_

Chapter 8: The Royal Ball! A Traitor's Identity- REVEALED!

King Kurtillian Wagnerius I of Denmark was not the sort of fellow who frightened very easily. If anything, other people were more likely to be terrified of _him_, due to his rather…_unique_ appearance. Certainly there was no shortage of those who submitted to his rule purely because Kurt's abnormality scared them to death. No, this young King was a warrior, brave and bold in all things that came his way. No task, it was said, was too daunting for Kurt, and no problem was insurmountable to his almost dogged persistence. Kurt was intimidated by neither man nor beast.

Unfortunately, the King's new bride fell into neither category. The mere thought of trying to dance with Catherine, under the scrutinizing eyes of Kurt's nobles and courtiers, was almost enough to scare him right into his grave.

Of course, both Catherine and Kurt had had extensive tutelage in such matters, in keeping with their royal upbringing. For Dark Age society's upper crust, such skills were not a hobby, but a necessity. To dance with dexterity and grace always marked one as a cut above the rabble. But sadly, all the education and tutoring in the world did little to banish Kurt's natural self-consciousness. His brain had already resigned itself to some kind of publicly humiliating disaster.

The kindly Polenicus glanced at his young charge with almost fatherly concern. "Are you nervous, my lord?" he asked, a knowing smile on his face.

Kurt tried to make himself seem confident. "Of course not," he snorted.

Polenicus smirked. "You are a dreadful liar, Your Majesty."

Kurt deflated like a punctured balloon. "It maddens me," he growled. "I can face an army without breaking a sweat, fight beasts and monsters with abandon, but this…" Kurt's expression grew mournful. "I have no idea what I should do, what I should say to her! What if I make a fool of myself? What if I step on her toes, or slip and fall, or-"

"If you keep thinking like that, you will," Polenicus said matter-of-factly. "Do not despair when there is nothing to despair over. I have every confidence that tonight will be a lovely evening for the both of you."

Kurt sighed. "I hope so," the King murmured, his voice somewhat mournful. "I just…want to impress her. I want to show her that I'm worthy of her."

"That is a commendable goal," Polenicus said warmly. "And one that so many other Kings and Queens make no effort to achieve."

Kurt stepped out from behind the dressing screen. "How do I look?" he asked uncertainly.

Polenicus had to struggle mightily to keep his expression serene. "You will be the center of attention, Sire," he said finally.

Kurt groaned as he exited his chambers. "That's what I'm afraid of…"

_Meanwhile…_

Though she could not have known it, Catherine of Prydian's anxiety for the upcoming social gathering mirrored her husband's perfectly. She was very nervous and scared, as many of the castle's residents were still strangers to her. Originally, Catherine had resolved _not _to be in attendance, but a stern talking-to from Mary had convinced her that not showing up to such an important event would hardly improve Catherine's already dubious reputation among the local populace.

As Mary's large, blunt fingers worked with a dexterity that belied their size, and the small yet fiery chambermaid did her best to reassure Catherine as she helped the young woman dress.

"Noo, don't be lettin' yer anxiety git the best o' ye," Mary scolded her ward gently. " 'Tain't every day that a big hullabaloo like this 'un comes along, an' I'll not see ye waste it worryin' an mullygrubbin'. Just go oot there an' try to 'ave some fun." Mary paused then, looking thoughtful. "Scratch that, milady," she added. "Don't _try _to 'ave fun, just do it!"

"But…what if I embarrass him?" Catherine asked. "I do not want to make him seem foolish, Mary! What if-"

"Belay that kind o' talk," Mary shook her finger up at the young Queen. "Else ye'll ne'er e'en leave this room! Start worryin' _after _ye've cause to, an' not before, miss."

With a flourish, Mary Macleod added the finishing touches on Catherine's dress, and the Scot abruptly pushed the Queen outside and into the hallway, just a few doors down from where Kurt and Polenicus were making their own preparations. "Don' be gittin' anythin' on that there dress," Mary warned. "I spent long hoors wi' a needle an' thread makin' it, an' I'll not see me finest stitchin' go to waste!"

"I'll be careful," Catherine promised her, before Mary vanished back inside. The Queen turned her head-

-And the breath left Catherine's body abruptly as Kurt's golden eyes met her own. He seemed to have made his own exit seconds before, and now Catherine could not help but stare at him. In spite of his bizarre appearance, there was no denying that Kurt looked _very _handsome in his exquisite outfit.

Kurt's feet were shod in fine black boots of soft leather, specially tailored for his warped toes, and their heels clicked softly on the stone floor as he hesitantly approached her. A great cloak of deepest purple swirled and billowed about his shoulders, its shade and tone matched perfectly with Kurt's blue skin. Dark colors, indeed, seemed to suit the young King: he wore a matching black tunic and breeches with conservative gold stitching for a hint of contrast, and his somewhat tight-fitting clothes did wonders to showcase his well-developed muscles, but not obscenely so. Catherine felt her heart beat a little bit faster just by looking at him.

Though Catherine's reaction to Kurt's appearance was profound, her husband's jaw just about hit the floor as he got a good look at _her._

The young King could not help but be in awe of Catherine's beauty. She was clad in a dress of soft pink the color of budding roses, and her delicate feet were clad in fine shoes decorated with freshwater pearls. Catherine's hair, shining and clean from a thorough scrubbing, fell in chocolate cascades about her shoulders. The dress she wore was very effective at bringing her fine figure to attention, and the muted tones of Catherine's fine outfit made her skin seem to glow in comparison. Kurt's heart beat a thunderous tattoo in his chest, and he tried desperately to quash his self-consciousness as he held his arm out to her.

Catherine blushed furiously, her crimson cheeks matching her husband's embarrassment, and she silently linked her arm through his as she summoned up her courage for what lay ahead.

Kurt's brain went into overdrive. _What should I say? Should I say anything? Does she even want to talk to me? Maybe I should…give her a compliment or something, yeah, that might work…_

The young King forced his mouth to work. "You look, um, very nice," he said.

Catherine smiled at him, genuinely pleased that he approved of her appearance. "As do you…Kurt," she replied, struggling to keep her eyes off of his rippling six-pack.

Awkward silence reigned for a moment as Kurt searched for something to say in reply, so it was natural that he felt eternally grateful when they rounded a corner and ran into a close ally of Kurt's in the court. Lord Salazar, the young man who'd spoken in support for his liege's defensive policies not two days back, grinned hugely as he fell in step beside him.

"You're looking well, milord and lady," Salazar remarked, inclining his head in a gesture of respect. "It will be a great honor to have you both present this evening."

"You are looking rather spritely yourself," Kurt smiled back, addressing his supporter in a more familiar manner. "That's good, because I need all the help I can get if _anything_ is to be done around here. Your service yesterday will not go unnoticed, Salazar."

"You flatter me, my lord," Salazar chuckled, before addressing Catherine. "You look lovely, milady," he commented. "Mary Macleod's taste in fashion has yet to disappoint."

"You are most kind," Catherine murmured shyly, averting her eyes and scooting a little closer to Kurt, as if being near him were somehow reassuring.

"I was merely speaking the truth," Salazar said modestly, before stopping in front of the imposing double doors that heralded the entrance to the Great Hall. Even without pushing them aside, Kurt and Catherine could hear the sounds of socialization: laughter, the tinkling of delicate crystal glasses raised in a toast, and the beautiful music of the orchestra as its wondrous notes soared to the sky.

Salazar motioned for them to enter with a flourish, and the imposing doors were pushed aside with scarcely a creak from their ancient hinges. Kurt smiled gratefully at him, taking Catherine's arm once more. As he did so, the young King posed a seemingly innocent question to his erstwhile supporter.

"That's a fine dagger you have there," Kurt commented, glancing at the knife at Salazar's waist. "May I ask where you acquired it?"

Salazar smiled winningly. "It was…a gift from a friend, Sire," he said, straight-faced.

"I'm not surprised," Kurt snorted, his tone teasing as the bride and groom made their grand entrance. Purely out of habit, Kurt closed the double doors behind him.

He never noticed nor heard the blade sink into the woodwork where his back had been a moment before.

Outside in the hallway, Salazar cursed his luck...

_Meanwhile…_

Polenicus cast a roving eye over the assembled nobility, and was once again disappointed when he realized that Kurt was still conspicuously absent. The advisor brought a dram of wine to his lips, sipping thoughtfully. "What is keeping them?" he murmured to the short and stocky woman beside him. "Those two should be here by now."

"Och, quit yer worryin'," Mary replied shortly. "Milord and lady'll show up as sure as night follows day, Polenicus. Must ye always be aggrieved by summat or other? Ye'll be dead afore long if'n ye keep on like that!"

"It's my job to worry," Polenicus said dryly. "And right now I'm worried about the course His Majesty's marriage is taking, Mary. Those two need to learn how to be comfortable with each other soon, and milord's insecurity is hardly helping the matter. It's a wonder he even gets out of bed anymore."

"Aye, an' I trust he's alone in those sheets?" Mary asked sharply. "He's hardly ready to be a-raisin' children, ye know."

Polenicus laughed softly. "That's one thing I _don't _need to be concerned about," he sniggered. "The thought of intimate contact of _any _kind with his wife terrifies His Majesty to no end. I do not think he will try anything like _that _in the foreseeable future. What of Catherine?" he asked. "How is she adjusting?"

"Milady brings to mind a doe amongst wolves," Mary said, raising her eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"That bad, eh?" Polenicus asked joshingly.

Mary stared at him, and the advisor's grin evaporated.

"Oh, dear," Polenicus said, biting his lip with worry.

"Hush, noo," Mary snapped. "There they be! Don' they jest look perfect t'gether?" The chambermaid's normally tough exterior melted like butter in the noonday sun. "What I wouldnae give t'be young agin!"

Kurt and Catherine hardly shared Mary's opinion. The entire hall had gone totally silent upon their arrival, and the judging glances of noble and peasant alike made Catherine very uneasy. Kurt took her hand in his own, lifting it to elbow's height as formality dictated whilst they descended the carefully varnished stairway.

Pleasant fire raced down Catherine's arm, and she had to forcibly keep her balance from crumbling at the touch of Kurt's soft, velvety fingers. Kurt, meanwhile, had to make an effort to put one foot in front of the other. The fact that he managed to keep a dignified air in the face of such intense emotions was a testament to the quality of Polenicus' teachings.

Catherine's shoes _clicked _softly on the marble floor, and no sooner had she left the staircase behind her than all present raised their glasses in salute.

"Long live His Majesty!" they chanted en masse. "Glory to the Royal Household! Hail King Kurtillian, Lord of Denmark!"

Kurt kept his face straight, as his advisor had taught him. He gestured with one hand, a slight, disinterested flick of the wrist, and his voice was kept carefully calm. "Continue," the young regent said.

The festivities and music resumed as promptly as if Kurt had flipped a switch, and Catherine took a moment to admire the sheer grandeur around her.

Kurt's ancestors had spared no expense in building the Great Hall. Its tiles were made of marble that had been swabbed until it practically glowed, without a scuff or scratch to mar their beauty. On either side, row upon row of torches glinted and danced in their elaborate sconces of exquisite ironwork. The ceiling, supported on masterful gilded arches, had been labored over by the finest artists, many of whom had been brought from as far away as Venice and Austria for their talents with paint and brush. Angels and cherubs, painted with loving care, danced and frolicked with carefree abandon amongst forest animals and mythical creatures. Mermaids, dragons, harpies and griffins were all depicted with such accuracy that they seemed ready to fly or swim at any second. The whole room was brightly lit by a wondrous chandelier, crafted of only the purest silver. Somehow, it had been kept miraculously free of tarnish down through the centuries, so that it shimmered and sparkled like a piece of burnished armor in the light of its candles. It was an exquisite, almost unbelievable piece of art, the product of a lifetime of labor from some long-dead artisan. The finishing touches left no one in doubt as to who was in charge here: a series of long banners hung from the balconies, depicting oversized version of Kurt's family crest: a black, two headed falcon set in a device of navy blue. Kurt smiled proudly as he gazed upon the symbol of his lineage.

Then the music began. The slow, steady, and slightly melancholy tempo of the orchestra's song was a wordless symbol for the gathered assembly to partake in the time-honored ritual of slow dancing.

With the hem of his cloak trailing 'round his ankles, Kurt summoned his courage and bowed as etiquette dictated, taking Catherine's palm once more in his own. "May…may I have this dance?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

A small smile replaced Catherine's nervous expression. "You may," she nodded, putting her arm around his neck and drawing close. It took all of her considerable willpower not to let her face turn crimson.

Kurt had no such luck, unfortunately. His three-fingered hand trembled somewhat as he put his other arm around Catherine's narrow waist, and he could almost _feel _her heartbeat against his own. Catherine's deep, brown eyes ensnared him like a fisherman's net, deeper than the depths of the cold North Sea, and Kurt struggled to think clearly as the dance formally began.

Slowly, he picked up his feet and stepped in rhythm to Catherine's own, and Kurt felt his heart soar as he gently steered her in a straight line, their arms held out to the side. Catherine's beautiful dress trailed behind her like a kite's tail as Kurt turned her around gently, taking care not twist her hand the wrong way. Like trees in a gentle wind the two swayed to the musicians' notes, and Kurt hesitantly stepped forward with his left foot. Catherine stepped back in response, her eyes still locked on his own, and Kurt swallowed nervously as he turned his partner in a small semicircle while being careful not to step on Catherine's shoes. It seemed to be a wise decision, and Catherine rewarded Kurt's efforts with another adroit and delicate series of complicated footsteps that Kurt momentarily struggled to mimic. Fortune seemed to smile down upon the young couple, as it was at this moment that Kurt's shyness suddenly vanished. _I'm doing it! _ he thought triumphantly, his spaded tail swishing in excitement. _Let's see what else I can do!_

The music continued to play, and Kurt's footing became a little steadier. With an almost tender grip, he held his forearm out once more, and Catherine spun like a toy top before drawing nearer again. Back and forth, forward and backward the King and Queen danced, their heels tapping on the ballroom floor. Catherine smiled as she executed a graceful twirl, and Kurt obliged her by doing one of his own, her hand held above his head like an angel's halo. The sounds of the orchestra grew faster, and he and Catherine veritably flew across the Great Hall, moving with grace and ease that singled them out from all else in attendance. The candlelight made Catherine's eyes seem to sparkle, and Kurt could not help but grin hugely as their dance picked up speed again.

She laughed softly, and Kurt felt a tornado of feelings well up inside of him. He was utterly consumed by the woman before him, and for a crystalline moment, all other worries were forgotten as the background reached fever pitch. Kurt pulled Catherine close once more-

-But was profoundly disappointed when the music lapsed into silence. The dancing partners around them broke up like shattered glass, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to move. So great were his newfound feelings that they moored him to that spot as surely as if he had grown roots. Catherine's pupils stared back at him, and Kurt, at that moment, lost what remained of his insecurity and self-consciousness and kissed her.

She stiffened, but any thoughts of reluctance vanished with the intensity of Kurt's embrace. Catherine felt almost as though her bones were melting, and a wave of excitement and affection threatened to consume the young princess as she gently returned Kurt's bold gesture. The seemingly heartless man who'd brought her here to this place had stolen her heart, and Kurt was almost convinced he'd die of happiness. No one had _ever _made either of them feel this way before, and the young king found himself wishing that the moment would never end.

Kurt's world only consisted of her, and her world of him.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

From his position at the punch table, Polenicus elbowed Mary and winked. "I don't see why I was even worried," he grinned.

Mary, in a manner completely out of character with her fiery personality, dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. "An' I promised meself I wouldnae cry," she sniffed. "I'n't that the sweetest thing ye e'er did see?"

Kurt took that moment to break away with extreme reluctance before he and Catherine attracted any attention. His face was a deeper blue than usual, while Catherine was rapidly turning vermillion.

He rubbed the back of his neck rather guiltily. "I shouldn't have done that," he muttered. "I'm sorry…"

Catherine arched an eyebrow at him and grinned cheekily. "Don't be."

"As you wish," Kurt smiled back, cupping her face tenderly.

From across the dining hall, Lord Salazar knew an opportune moment when he saw it. So smitten were the King and Queen with each other that they didn't notice as his poisoned dagger slid from his belt.

Like a panther stalking its prey, Salazar began closing in on the unsuspecting Kurt…

A/N: Brutal cliffhanger, huh? MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Will Salazar succeed in his nefarious act? What will come of Catherine and Kurt's relationship? And will the evil Gurz claim Denmark's throne? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! This was my first time trying to set anything in my story to music, so I'd love to hear some feedback on how I did. I know the dancing descriptions probably aren't perfect, but I hope it sufficed for the present. XD After all, practice makes perfect!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	9. Chapter 9

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 9: High Treason! Salazar's Ultimate Betrayal!

It would not be an exaggeration of any sort to say that Kurt had never been so happy before.

Despite all the trials and hardships he'd faced in his young life, things _finally _seemed to be looking up for him. Kurt's efforts to win Catherine's trust and affection had at long last come to fruition, and he tenderly gripped her hand in silent reassurance. Absurd as it may have sounded, Kurt was almost afraid that Catherine would vanish into thin air if he let go of her. This feeling…it was _extraordinary._

The blood sang a joyous song as it coursed through Kurt's veins, his every fiber and molecule so gloriously _alive _at the mere sight of her, and the once-icy and cold heart that beat in his furry chest was thawing like a glacier in Hell. All of those dark, sad and lonely years…If Kurt had known that Catherine was waiting for him at the end, he would have endured it all willingly.

Some part of Kurt's mind that miraculously managed to remain lucid wondered idly if this was what love felt like. He remembered how she'd fainted at seeing him for the first time, her clear brown eyes alight with fear and loathing. But now…

Now, there was only affection and a deep sense of devotion in those wondrous eyes.

Kurt had a rather sudden urge to climb the tallest mountain he could find and yell at the top of his lungs. With Catherine at his side, he felt like he could take on the world. From here on in, Kurt promised himself, things would only get better.

It's amazing just how completely _wrong _one person can be.

Salazar, the treacherous nobleman, snorted softly to himself at the sight of the King's utter infatuation. The fool, so enraptured by that woman, had blithely exposed his back to Salazar's poisoned blade. Drops of green venom dripped noiselessly on the marble floor, and Salazar took care to conceal the blade up his sleeve until he was close enough to guarantee a hit. Just a prick of the finger, a small cut on the hand, and His Majesty would die a slow, agonizing death as the poison wreaked its havoc on his body. The whole process would take, at most, a mere fourteen days.

There was no antidote for the toxin that Salazar was aware of. The poison that laced the dagger's edge had been harvested from the deadly serpents in the lands far to the East. There was absolutely no way Kurt could possibly recover, Salazar assured himself.

He squared his shoulders, as if adjusting the hem of his tunic, but in reality Salazar was readjusting his arms for a quicker and easier grip on the hidden blade. His velveteen shoes made nary a sound as he closed on the King and Queen, and the knife's lethal tip could just barely be seen protruding from his sleeve.

It was a flawless ruse, quick and clean. The traitor was convinced that he'd take every possible factor into consideration.

Unfortunately, Salazar had not counted on the candlelight glinting off the dagger's edge. For a scarce nanosecond, the shining metal reflected the torches with a blinding flash.

That was enough for Mary Macleod. The fiery chambermaid banged her tankard onto a nearby table and stalked into the assembled nobility, and her wrathful expression was enough to make even the most hardened knight tremble in his metal shoes. The dented and chipped rolling pin that Mary always had stowed in her apron appeared in her meaty palms instantly, and maternal fury suffused the core of her being as she rapidly closed in on the back of Salazar's skull.

The traitor, in turn, was now upon his King like a wolf upon a lamb. Salazar flicked his wrist deftly, clutching the dagger's slender hilt in a white-knuckled grasp. With a straight, blank face, Salazar went in for the kill!

So did Mary.

_BONK!_

The noise would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so dire. The intended deathblow was stopped abruptly, and Salazar fell, stunned, and the assassin's weapon fell with a clatter to the cold stone floor. For all his scheming and plotting, the traitor had ultimately been foiled by a humble kitchen instrument.

Mary scowled at Salazar as he lay sprawled at her feet. "An' _that _settles _that_," she declared, scowling fiercely. "Ye traitorous, wretched cur! How _dare _ye betray yer King! I'll have a front row seat at yer execution, I will!"

Kurt was absolutely stunned. He stared at the fallen betrayer, slack-jawed, but his consternation was rapidly replaced by burning, furious anger. Slowly, deliberately, he grabbed Salazar by his shirt collar and hoisted him clear off of his feet.

"You craven dog," Kurt snarled. "You betray me? Why? Tell me all, and I might be merciful. You know full well the fate that is reserved for traitors."

Salazar sneered as the toe of his foot inched to the dagger he'd dropped. "Perhaps you do not know me as well as you might think…_Your Majesty!_"

With a single, fluid movement, the dastardly nobleman flipped his blade onto the heel of his shoe and tossed it into the air. The venom-laced blade seemed to shine with malevolent glee as Salazar snatched his weapon, and he lunged for the kill-

-But Kurt's unnatural speed and agility worked in his favor. The stiletto missed him entirely, to Salazar's severe disappointment and dismay.

Unfortunately, the double-edged dagger nicked _Catherine_'s hand instead!

Kurt automatically turned to her, concern on his face, and Salazar took advantage of the distraction to run across the Great Hall until he came to the vast bay window overlooking the city. With fury and vengeance on his handsome features, Salazar shattered the ancient glass with a well-thrown chair.

The traitor turned back to his King one final time, and was sadistically delighted to see that Catherine had already collapsed as the poison began burning the blood in her veins. Salazar gave Kurt a cold, cruel smile. "Give the Queen my regards!" he shouted. "I've a feeling her health may take a sharp decline!"

Then Salazar was lost to sight as he hurled himself through the shattered glass, landing perfectly on the horse he'd parked directly below. The traitor's steed whinnied theatrically, and its hooves pounded as Salazar disappeared rapidly from sight.

Polenicus shoved his way to the center of the crime, exuding worry and concern. "Get out!" he ordered as he took Catherine's pulse. "There is nothing for you to see here!"

As the onlookers dispersed, Polenicus bent an ear toward Catherine's mouth. Already, her breathing was shallow and labored. He turned to Mary. "Take her to His Majesty's chambers," he said quietly. "I will be along in a moment, as soon as I gather my medicines."

Kurt turned from the sight of Salazar's brazen escape, and though his face was kept carefully blank, there was no mistaking the tears that coursed down his blue, furry cheeks. His voice was hoarse and strained when he finally spoke.

"What has happened to her?" Kurt whispered. "It was only a scratch…"

"I believe, Sire," Polenicus said, "that the blade was laced with poison."

"Surely you have an antidote?" Kurt asked, his tone growing desperate. "Something to counteract its effects?"

"I do not," Polenicus said, his own eyes beginning to water. "This venom…I have never seen anything like it, my lord. If a cure for does, I am not aware of it. I am so sorry, Your Majesty…"

"Then…" Kurt could not bring himself to finish.

"Yes," Polenicus concluded mournfully. "I fear that Catherine…_is dying._"

Kurt shut his eyes tightly, his breathing hard and fast as his entire body trembled with the weight of his was a tragedy of unbearable proportions that his newfound happiness had been so cruelly and swiftly snatched away. The young King literally _felt_ a part of him wither and die, and even his tail drooped like a wilted flower.

With a tenderness that would not have roused a kitten from its sleep, Kurt slowly knelt and gathered Catherine into his arms. He held her close, gripping her tightly, and his eyes glazed over as Kurt gave voice to his grief and rage.

"Catherine," he whispered, his voice choking before he let his despair consume him. Though he would have screamed had his shoulders not been heaving with sobs, no puny, pitiful mode of human vocalization could have possibly described the sadness and loss that ate away at Kurt with the veracity of a burning acid. There was no sword or spear that could have pierced his heart deeper than Salazar's wanton act of malice, no weapon forged by human hands could deliver a more soul-searing agony than what Kurt was feeling now.

A torrent of tears splattered onto the once-beautiful marble floors, tainting their beauty with heartbreak….

_Meanwhile…._

Lord Salazar wiped his sword on the rapidly cooling corpse of the sentry he'd just slain, and a might kick sent the gates of Arthus yawning open like the mouth of a great beast. He turned and went mount his horse again-

-But was surprised to see the wicked Lady Aleera already mounted behind the saddle.

The vicious woman smiled like a rabid piranha. "If you seek to overthrow the King," she said casually. "I would gladly offer my assistance…"

Salazar grinned as he put a foot in the stirrup.

Seconds later, the two had disappeared into the surrounding countryside…

A/N: I know it was a rather short chapter than what most of you have become accustomed to, but I needed to get this one out before the _real _excitement begins! Is there _any _remedy that can save Catherine's life? Will Salazar and Aleera _ever _be brought to justice? And what plots does the evil Gurz have in mind? Find out in coming installments! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. To AmuletSpade: I have a message for your Autobot buddy…ALL HAIL MEGATRON! HAHAHAHA! DECEPTICONS _RULE!_


	10. Chapter 10

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 10: Desperate Race for an Uncertain Cure!

_The Viking's Encampment_

The mighty Gurz struggled keep his voice calm and level as Salazar finished delivering his report. The news that the traitor had brought back was far from what the Chieftain had expected, and now he felt the ulcer in his gut threaten to boil over in exasperation.

The Viking pinched the skin between his bushy blonde eyebrows. "You are such an idiot," he stated flatly. "I practically hand you Wagnerius on a silver platter, and _still he lives!_ You are beginning to _sorely try my patience, Salazar!_" Gurz's eyes narrowed into cold slits. "If you do not make yourself useful, then you will cease to be an asset and become a liability. And you know how _we _deal with liabilities, don't you?" he added, his hand straying to his giant axe.

"Yes, my lord," Salazar whispered. "I assure you, this mistake _will _be rectified."

"And what of that woman you've brought back?" Gurz demanded. "We have no need for her, Salazar, and she has already seen far too much. Why should I not split her skull with my bare hands at this very moment?"

The betrayer chose his words carefully. "Your strength is the stuff of legend, Mighty One," he began. "But there _are _situations that can require more…_subtle _modus operandi. One cannot solve all of his problems merely by smashing them, my lord. I know for a fact that Lady Aleera may be very useful to us as a spy, given her feminine nature and beauty. One may catch more flies with honey than salt," Salazar concluded.

Though he was loath to admit it, Gurz knew that Salazar made a legitimate argument. "Very well," he rumbled. "But if she waivers, it will be on _your _head, Salazar. Now get out!"

The traitorous nobleman was only too happy to comply. He exited the ramshackle tent as fast as his feet could carry him. Aleera snorted contemptuously at the open display of fear as Salazar took refuge behind her.

Gurz, meanwhile, emerged from the mass of furs and canvas in all of his barbaric glory. His shining war axe was held in his giant hand like a baby's favorite rattle, and Gurz felt a surge of satisfaction as he surveyed the ranks upon ranks of Norseman who were hanging on his every word. The mere sight of them would chill the blood of even the most hardened warrior.

The Vikings' numbers had been bolstered by various warbands and raiding parties who'd heard tell of Gurz's ambitious expedition. Like sharks they came, predators called by the smell of blood in the water, and all of them were eager to grab their share of the spoils of war. Tattered standards, many topped with human and animal skulls, depicted Norse runes and symbols that flapped slowly and quietly in the cold morning breeze. Spears, axes, swords and burnished shields glinted in the sun like the scales of some great predatory fish, and Gurz reveled in the thought of plunder and slaughter as he roared his proclamation.

"My brothers!" Gurz shouted. "The time has come at last! Let the edge of our blades spill forth the life from our foes, and the fires burn long and brightly to the screams of the doomed! Break camp and prepare to venture inland, sons of Thor!_ TOMORROW WE MARCH ON ARTHUS!"_

A sea of remorseless iron and steel was thrust high in the air, and the Vikings roared their support as visions of looting and pillage flashed through their evil brains.

"GURZ! GURZ! DEATH! DEATH! DEATH! GURZ! GURZ! DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!"

_The infirmary, deep within the Royal Palace…_

Kurt had never felt so despondent before in living memory. Catherine lay pale and sickly on her cot as Polenicus continued his ministrations, and the mutant's tail thrashed helplessly as the utter hopelessness of his situation became starkly clear.

The young King would have cried, but there was no point to it. He had already sobbed his tear ducts dry.

Polenicus sighed and shook his head. "I have done all I can do, sire," he murmured. "It is only a matter of time now."

Kurt strove to keep his voice from cracking. "And you're sure that no antidote for this poison exists? Are you _absolutely certain_ that there's nothing we haven't tried yet? Something we might have overlooked? _There has to be another way!"_

Mary Macleod spoke up suddenly. "I dinnae wan' t'give ye false 'ope, milord…" she began slowly. "But I 'ave 'eard a rumor 'ere and there…"

"Tell me," Kurt said, his tone growing desperate. "If there's even the smallest chance of saving Catherine, I'll take it. I'll do anything for it."

Mary sighed. "Well, see, I 'ear a lot from travelers an' suchlike whilst I'm aboot me duties, ye ken? An' every once in a while I 'ear tell of some kinda plant that grows in the southern mountains. Supposed to be good remedy fer all sorts o' things, it is, though whether it'll be strong enough t'git rid o' this cursed poison I 'ave no idea. 'Course, it be jest a rumor, Sire. Fer all I know, it may not even exist."

"What is this herb called?" Kurt demanded. "Where might I find it?"

Mary tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well, I dinnae know the exact name, but those who claim to 'ave seen an' used it say it be in the shape of a star, aye, an' wit petals of a curious bluish-purple. As to where ye might find it, if it does indeed grow there, I'm afraid to say it grows far outside of yer own terri'tries. This plant, 'tis said, is native to the lands south of here, milord, in the great kingdom where the Franks hold sway."

Polenicus frowned. "You mean…"

"Aye," Mary concluded. "The great Charlemagne rules o'er that land, an' I doubt 'e'll take kindly to trespassers, ye know. Them Franks be the most powerful kingdom in all of Europe, milord. If ye pet 'em the wrong way, they'd swallow us whole!"

"She speaks the truth," Polenicus murmured. "Charlemagne is a great and fearsome warrior. His army is large enough to completely overrun us."

Kurt snorted, and Polenicus frowned at him with an exasperated sigh. "You're going to go anyway, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am," Kurt replied, his voice hard. "No matter how slim the chance may be, if there is _any _possible way to save her, then I will gladly take it no matter what it might cost me. I will do whatever it takes, even if I have to cut down Charlemagne myself! I will _not _return until I have obtained this remedy, and when I do…" Kurt's warped fingers clenched into a fist, and his entire body seethed with roiling vicious anger. When he spoke again, Kurt's voice was so thick with hatred and a longing for vengeance that it was almost painful to hear. "Salazar and I _will _have a reckoning. I will _not _stop, I will _not _rest, and I will _not_ ceaseuntil I have made him _pay for what he's done! _Even if I have to chase him to the very gates of Hell, I swear on my father's grave that I will _hunt him down…_" Kurt took a moment to catch his breath. "_And I will KILL him."_

Polenicus tried not to register his consternation at his charge's sudden outburst. "Then I shall fetch you some clothes more suitable for this journey," he replied. "You will need to be inconspicuous if you are to escape Charlemagne's notice, my lord, and those clothes are hardly those of a commoner." The old man glanced at Kurt appraisingly. "A hooded cloak would not be out of order, either," he added. "Your unique face will undoubtedly cause some consternation.

"Make it so," Kurt ordered swiftly. "I will leave at once!"

_That evening…_

It was a sad and mournful King who nudged his stallion through the city gates as the blazing sun began to dip below the horizon. Kurt pushed back the brown hood that concealed his identity, and took one last look at the towering spire where his beloved lay on her deathbed.

"Hold on, Catherine," he whispered. "Please, just hold on a little longer…"

Then the young King hid his face once more as he thundered off into the distance, his cloak flying behind him.

A/N: *Sigh* another short chapter, I know, but trust me when I say that the end result will be totally worth it! (Have I ever broken a promise to my readers? Of course not! ^^) And you know what? I'm gonna come right out and say it: Charlemagne's presence in this story, at this particular period in history, is _not _historically accurate. He actually died over three hundred years _prior _to when this story takes place. I know it's surprising to most of you who have become accustomed to such things, but I needed a very specific kind of character to play the part Charlemagne will have in this story, and he was the only person I could find who fit the bill. I shall elaborate on both my reasoning and Charlemagne's role in this story in the next few chapters, but _unfortunately_ I can't reveal too much right now without spoiling it for you guys. I beg you to be patient, my friends, as good things tend to come to those who wait! ^^ Coming up: Kurt finds himself in unfamiliar territory, and the Vikings begin closing in on the city of Arthus…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	11. Chapter 11

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 11: A Race Against Time

(A/N: You have been warned: the beginning of this chapter is extremely graphic. If you have aversions to descriptions of carnage, I would recommend that you skip the next couple of paragraphs.)

_Denmark's Northern Coast_

Despite the yearly onslaughts of freezing winds and howling blizzards that were a regular occurrence in such far-flung places, the picturesque coastal village of Frederikshawn endured the ravages of Nature with the fortitude and sheer persistence that characterized those who lived and worked in such harsh conditions. Its citizens eked out a hard-scrabble existence, trawling their nets through the frosty waves of the cold North Sea for the fish and other marine animals that were this people's lifeblood. It was a hard life for those who dwelled here, but nevertheless they, and their village, had survived.

Until now, of course.

Frederikshawn's small houses of wood and thatch sent plumes of black smoke into the sky like the Devil's own furnace, and the sheets of orange and red flames licked hungrily at timber and straw as the town was callously set ablaze. The venerable cottages and small buildings that had been so lovingly built and maintained by long-gone settlers and their descendants were burnt to cinders in one fell stroke.

The inhabitants fared no better. The bloodied corpses of men, women and children turned the snow into a crimson mush as they lay sprawled where the Vikings had cruelly cut them down. The body of a young woman lay by the side of the road, still clutching the baby that bore an arrow through its throat as her lifeless eyes shed tears of blood. An old man lay with his skull split almost in two by a Viking's axe, still clutching his gnarled cane while his daughter and grandchildren bloodied the soil around him. No one had been spared the Norseman's savagery as Gurz and his men came up from the sea like a gale of swords and spears, and now the villainous Viking wiped his boot callously on the corpse of one of his victims.

"Hardly even worth the trouble," the warlord commented to himself. "There was nothing here to steal anyway, save for some horses and a few fishing nets." Gurz spat on the body contemptuously. "But then again, it provided me with an amusing diversion, so maybe it wasn't a _total _waste."

"You will find that the spoils grow much more desirable as we get further inland," Salazar commented as he held a napkin to his nose. "But I daresay the news of _this _will have that upstart King trembling on his throne."

"It'd better," Gurz growled. "Fear is the most potent weapon of all."

"Wagnerius is no longer in Arthus," Lady Aleera sang as she played hopscotch over rivers of blood. "He has gone south, Gurz. I heard of it myself."

"Is that so?" the Chieftain said quietly, shooting a dangerous glance at Salazar. "Your friend here failed to mention that."

The traitor fought to keep his knees from shaking. "I thought it would be for the better," he said, his voice trembling somewhat. "Wagnerius has gone to search for some nonexistent cure for the poison I administered to his Queen, and it is unlikely that he will return anytime soon. The lack of his leadership will make Arthus that much easier to conquer, Mighty One."

Gurz glanced at Aleera. "Where has Wagnerius gone running off to? I cannot claim Denmark as long as that abomination still breathes!"

"The King has journeyed south," Aleera trilled. "To the lands where Charlemagne rules. He believes an herbal remedy for his Queen may be found there."

"Charlemagne?" Gurz frowned. Like everyone else in Europe, he'd heard of the legendary Frankish ruler who now controlled most of the central continent. Then the warlord's tone turned light as a thought dawned on him. "He will have Wagnerius killed before he even finishes crossing the border. That old fool will do our work for us."

Salazar looked extremely disappointed that he'd been denied the opportunity to kill Wagnerius himself. "As you say, Mighty One," he grumbled.

Gurz smiled sweetly. "That's right, Salazar," he grinned. "As I say. And right now, I say that you should not get very comfortable with these surroundings. We move out once more at first light…"

The traitor grated his teeth, but dared not say a word…

_Kingdom of the Franks, the Ardennes Forest (Present-day France)_

Kurt was hungry.

Normally, that wouldn't have been so unusual in and of itself, but the young King had scarcely eaten since riding forth from Denmark over a week ago. Kurt stomach grumbled rebelliously, and he knew that the blame for his current situation rested squarely on his own impetuous shoulders.

In keeping with Kurt's somewhat reckless and hasty temperament, he had not taken the time to properly prepare for such a long and arduous adventure before leaving the capital city. Kurt had not even considered the supplies and necessary accoutrements such a voyage would need; in fact, Kurt's desperation had so utterly consumed him that he had left Arthus with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the sword at his waist.

And spending over a week in the saddle did nothing to improve his dilemma, either.

Kurt scowled. Normally Polenicus would have reminded him to take care of such matters, but the resident advisor and healer was more than a little preoccupied with keeping Catherine alive until his King returned. No, it was his own stupid fault that he now sat, hungry and exhausted, around a meager little campfire with not a morsel to soothe his growling belly, nor a drop of water to assuage his parching thirst.

Kurt had only his horse for company, and that was little consolation. The dumb animal had been nothing but contrary and downright _mean_ the whole way here. Though it was a beautiful steed, with a coat and mane blacker than a scribe's ink, Kurt's mount had actually gone out of its way in an attempt to bite him.

The horse whinnied fearfully in the darkness, and Kurt idly consisted eating _it_. The notion was just as quickly discarded; Kurt needed the stallion as a way to get home within any reasonable amount of time.

An owl hooted somewhere in the high treetops, causing Kurt to tilt his head up curiously. Though he could not see the predatory bird, he had no doubt that it could see _him_.

This was country was not altogether disagreeable, Kurt reflected. The first thing he'd noticed was that it was so much _warmer _here than the climate in Denmark. He did not have to wear a heavy fur cloak and a thick woolen tunic all day. Compared to the frozen wastes back home, Kurt was in a veritable paradise.

The scenery was quite idyllic as well on this warm, still evening. The countless trees that nearly blocked out the sky with their sprawling branches stood like watchful giants in the eerie calm. So great was the web of tree limbs that, when thus intertwined, they created a natural umbrella that worked to give any traveler shelter from all but the harshest of storms. There was no shrubbery or grass here, only a dark, earthy floor littered with layer upon layer of discarded pine needles and fallen leaves. This created a natural aroma of rainwater and damp soil mixed with chlorophyll and fresh sap that permeated the air for miles around, and in Kurt's opinion it was not an unpleasant scent.

But he was not the only one in the Ardennes. Far from it.

The night was _alive _with a symphony of the calls of various nocturnal fauna. Legions of small crickets scraped and rubbed their legs together to send their familiar song soaring to the stars above with almost deafening volume. Here and there, a toad sent his harsh, croaking message to any females that may have been in the immediate area, while the periodic hooting of that solitary owl could still be clearly heard from somewhere high above Kurt's blue, furry head. The curled and crispy leaves crunched like potato chips under the nighttime forest traffic, and though Kurt could not see the animals that wandered beyond the campfire's reassuring light, he knew without a doubt that they were out there.

He stirred the fire mournfully. There was no point in traveling any more for today. This was partly because Kurt could barely see where he was going were the campfire extinguished, but also because the gnarled, tough roots that weaved through the forest floor would have lamed his stupid horse.

The animal in question snorted, and Kurt glared at him crossly while he fingered the hilt of his blade. "Don't tempt me," he warned.

The horse fell immediately silent, and Kurt smiled in satisfaction. "I thought so," he smirked, before muttering under his breath. "Ornery thing's no help at all…"

Though he had no way of knowing it, the forest animals were not the only ones out and about that fine evening. In fact, hunters of a very different kind had positioned themselves behind the trunks of several generously large trees.

Kurt had no idea that he was being carefully watched.

From his concealed position, a man clad in chainmail and an iron helmet whispered in a low voice to his comrades. "It talks!" he exclaimed softly.

"What do you think it is?" a second soldier asked. "Some kind of monster?"

"What's he saying?"

"Sounds like he's speaking the Danish tongue, huh?"

"I bet it's some kind of demon, more likely as not," the first speaker said fearfully, gripping the haft of his halberd tightly. "I say we kill it before it taints the land with its evil!"

That particular knight wound up flat on his back, his jaw smarting from the impact of an armor-clad hand. A larger, older man with an officer's badge on his sleeve narrowed his eyes dangerously at the upstart and hissed, "I'm the one giving the orders, Valheim! And I say that this…_creature_, no matter what it may be, will be brought before His Majesty to face his judgment for trespassing in his realm. It is intelligent enough to be subject to our laws for his intrusion."

Valheim looked away. "Yes, sir."

"Good," the officer said sternly, "Remember, I want him taken alive, understand? Now follow me…"

Moments later, the soldiers had vanished into the dark like smoke on the wind.

Kurt, of course, was unaware of these grave developments. He was too preoccupied with the acorn he was attempting to roast in a bid to obtain sustenance.

The King looked mournfully at his evening meal. "I'd give my left arm for Mary to be here right now," he muttered. "I've never known her culinary skills to be found lacking."

The thought of the fiery chambermaid brought, in turn, thoughts of Catherine. Kurt felt his stomach clench with renewed urgency for his mission, futile though it may have seemed. In fact, he had no idea if Catherine was even still alive.

Kurt shut his golden eyes tightly. _Don't go down that path…_

Beyond the fire's reassuring light, something made a twig _snap_. Kurt started as the noise jolted him back to reality, and in doing so dropped his precious acorn into the flames.

The young King muttered a stream of colorful obscenities under his breath before getting a grip on his temper. "Fine," he said to himself, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. "I'll just find another one…"

Kurt abruptly stood, the better to scan the immediate area for anything that might be edible-

-And damn near impaled himself on the semicircle of shining spear-blades that suddenly hemmed him in.

Kurt reacted without even thinking. He knew he was not in an advantageous position, trapped between his assailants in front and the fire to his back. The blue, two-fingered hand snapped to his the leather-wrapped handle of his sword with a speed that would make the most disciplined samurai envious.

It was, in fact, a distraction. The soldier who happened to be in range never noticed Kurt's prehensile tail wrapping around his ankles until the spaded tip yanked his legs right out from under him. The knight collapsed in a jumble of flailing limbs, and Kurt threw himself on the attackers with fury borne of desperation.

A wickedly shining, leaf-shaped blade jutted out to meet Kurt's sudden attack, but the young King made a few short, vicious slashing motions with his own weapon and cut the spear like a piece of sausage. His foe looked at the ruined pole-arm, stunned, and Kurt obliged his courtesy by breaking his nose with his elbow. The soldier staggered, clasping his ruined face with rapidly reddening fingers, but his misfortune was not yet over. Kurt abruptly seized his shoulders and hurled the poor fellow bodily into three of his comrades, knocking them over like bowling pins.

With the blood roaring through his veins, Kurt leapt backward to avoid a sword thrust that would surely have spilled his innards onto the forest floor had it made contact with his flesh. But now, Kurt lunged while his opponent was still recovering from the massive swing and cut a long, shallow slash across the length of his torso. It wasn't a lethal blow, but it was certainly more than enough to get this fellow out of the way.

Kurt wasn't trying to kill anyone right now. It was far too late in the evening for bloodletting and slaughter. He turned to meet the next man who challenged him-

-But his fighting spirit died as quickly as it had spawned.

A dozen arrows aimed at the heart can do that to a person, after all.

The gray-haired officer smiled grimly from his position, slightly in front of the taut bowstrings that had so suddenly ended this battle. All it would take was a wave of his hand to fill Kurt with shafts until he looked like a grotesque porcupine, and everyone knew it.

"Drop it," the man said harshly, referring to the blade Kurt still held in his hand.

Kurt hesitated, and the officer narrowed his eyes. "You will obey my orders or die, _trespasser!"_

That did it. The shining sword made a dull _thud_ as Kurt let it fall from his grasp.

The young King made no attempt to hide his outrage. "Why do you attack me?" he growled. "I have done nothing!"

"That is not for either of us to decide," the officer growled. "Tell me, _monster_, how does one such as you find yourself in His Majesty's lands? What _are _you?"

Kurt sighed mentally. _Might as well go for broke,_ he thought, before drawing himself high. "I am King Kurtillian Wagnerius I, Lord of Denmark," he said, trying to sound aloof, as a king should. "Who are _you _to address me so?"

This brought a round of hearty laughter from everyone in earshot. The grizzled soldier wiped tears from his eyes. "A King? _You?_ I find myself skeptical of that claim…_Your Majesty!"_

This brought another cacophony of hooting and jeering, and Kurt felt his face heat up as these men mocked him. Several scathing comments formed on his tongue, but any snide remark in his favor might have been detrimental to his immediate health.

Then the soldiers' merriment ended as their leader assumed a serious expression once more. "Well, 'King' or no, you are still an intruder," he stated flatly. "And a curious sight to boot. I've no doubt His Majesty Charlemagne would be curious just to have a look at you before he passes sentence and sends you to the headsman!" The officer turned to his subordinates and nodded curtly. "Take him and bind him tight!"

A/N: Well, looks like Kurt has got himself in some serious trouble, huh? What will happen when he meets the great Charlemagne face-to-face? Will Gurz and his army burn Arthus to the ground? And how has Catherine fared so far? Find out more in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW!

And if you will forgive my digression, I shall now relate to you one of two reasons as to why I chose Charlemagne for this story: Reason number one: he was totally KICK-ASS! Seriously, this guy was the Caesar Augustus of his time, a Renaissance man born several centuries early. Charlemagne instituted tremendously effective economic, social, and political reforms that vastly improved the standard of living for his people, and even more importantly, he founded the first _public educational system_ to be found in Europe since the fall of the Roman Empire! And don't even get me started on his military prowess. You wanna know what it was like if you had to go out and actually _fight _this guy? It was like fighting a _nuclear bomb._ EVERYBODY in Europe was afraid to take on Charlemagne, and during his reign he almost _doubled _the size of his kingdom. And when he died, Charlemagne was mourned by millions…_including the people he'd conquered! _This man was the greatest King of the Dark Ages. There was never a ruler before, during or since who could compare to Charlemagne. He was a pretty decent guy as medieval monarchs go, so needless to say, as a history buff, I'm a HUGE fan of his. ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	12. Chapter 12

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 12: In the Court of Charlemagne

_The City of Aachen, Kingdom of the Franks_

It has been said in the writings and annals of history that Charlemagne's rule ushered in a golden age of art, education, architecture and sweeping reforms, a period of relative peace and stability for all who lived under the great king's sway.

This is a description of such understatement that it borders on the imbecilic.

In truth, the great capital of Aachen was the largest, wealthiest, and most powerful city in all of Europe. It was so large, so massive in size, that it made Kurt's proud Arthus look microscopic in comparison. It was a beautiful city, by the standards of the time, a light of civilization and sophistication unheard of in those wild, far-off days. There were so many people who called Aachen home that the whole place resembled a furious anthill if one could get a bird's-eye view of it. Though he was loathe to acknowledge any such feeling, Kurt found himself feeling quite jealous of the grandeur and splendor of Charlemagne's home.

Beyond the massive, monolithic defenses, houses of all shapes and sizes clustered together in a mishmash of wood, stone and straw. Children played with hoops and wooden swords on the finely paved streets whilst their mothers exchanged gossip over a tub of laundry or a steaming cauldron. The marketplace was a true melting pot of cultures and languages, for Charlemagne's masterful diplomacy and swift military campaigns had put him in regular contact with nations far and wide. Bustling shoppers carried baskets and clay jars filled to bursting with exotic, foreign fruits and vegetables, and more than one came away with a number of hens or even a goat in two for this evening's dinner. Truly, it was a great civilization that could accumulate the goods of so many different peoples in one singular place. The lowing of cows and the clucking and screeching of myriad birds mingled with the clanking, clattering, and occasional shattering of the more fragile merchandise and the outraged yells that followed. The countless smells, too, made one's senses swim. The weird yet joyous aroma of fresh, steaming food made one begin to salivate, while the pungent animal droppings collided jarringly with the sweet, dreamy smells of rare incense and perfume. The searing heat of spicy peppers strung up to dry next to the fire of the blacksmith's furnace made one's skin begin to grow damp with sweat, and all around this nexus of commerce the cries of haggling and bartering could be heard.

"Four _livres_, my friend," a dark-skinned Moroccan shook his head violently. "That is as low as I'm willing to go. I'm not running a charity."

"Highway robbery!" a fat, horse-faced woman retorted as she clutched the hand of her small boy. "Three _livres_ and a batch of fresh eggs, take it or leave it! I have to put food on the table, you know!"

"Three and a half _livres_, and six eggs," the Moroccon snorted.

"Three and two quarters, _and_one of my hens," she shot back. "That way you can have all the eggs you want, sir!"

The merchant rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then smiled. "Done!"

"Finest silks in all of Europe!" a tiny man in Chinese clothing squeaked only two stalls down. "Perfect for that special lady!"

"Come sample the very best olive oil!" A Greek called. "Useful for almost anything, and absolutely delicious!"

"Fresh rolls, get 'em while they're hot!"

"Spiced tea for those chilly evenings!"

Kurt felt almost nauseated at the sudden onslaught to his olfactory and optical pathways. He pulled his hood a little tighter over his head so he wouldn't cause a panic. Kurt's appearance would not help to endear him to the locals if he accidentally started a riot.

The stony expressions of the armored scouts who "accompanied" him left Kurt in no doubt as to his situation. Though the men who'd captured him had not trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, Kurt had nonetheless been explicitly told that he'd be filled with arrows if he even _blinked_the wrong way. He was a prisoner, to put it bluntly, a trespasser on Frankish lands, and thus subject to whatever punishment Charlemagne felt like inflicting upon him.

Kurt suppressed a nervous shudder. Everyone knew of the legendary monarch who ruled most of central Europe. Though Charlemagne seemed to be a largely peaceful ruler, Kurt had heard tell of an occasion when the Frankish king had ordered the beheading of four thousand Saxons who'd fomented a rebellion against him. (_A/N: That actually happened_.)

Clearly, this was _not_a man to be trifled with, and Kurt felt his stomach quiver as his captors brought him to a halt in front of a palace styled like a Roman villa. It was crafted entirely of marble, supported by a huge colonnade of giant pillars and carved with frescoes of Charlemagne's great military victories. It did not have spires that soared to the heavens, as Kurt's home did; rather, the Frankish Royal Palace was built so that it dwarfed the city surrounding it, like a sleeping giant. The effect of this was to slightly intimidate anyone who entered, to awe them with its size and beauty before they received an audience with the King. It was a rather clever strategy, Kurt admitted, to simultaneously awe and frighten with architecture alone.

A spearbutt landed between his shoulder blades. "Move it, freak!" one of the armored soldiers snarled. "Don't keep His Majesty waiting, or it'll be worse for you!"

Kurt glowered silently at him, but he had no choice but to comply. The brown hood that had hidden his face was slowly pushed back with his warped hands, and Kurt felt extremely self-conscious as he was practically frog-marched right into Charlemagne's own throne room.

The great King did not immediately notice the intrusion. As Kurt was thrust into the center of the stone floor, Charlemagne had his back turned whilst muttering with several of his advisors.

A heavy boot slammed into the small of Kurt's back. "Where are your manners, wretch?" Kurt's tormentor demanded. "Kneel in the presence of His Majesty Charlemagne, and beg for his mercy!"

_Don't get your hopes up,_ Kurt silently retorted.

With a wave of his hand, Charlemagne dismissed the assembled nobleman and landlords without once turning to face his young captive. A menacing forest of spears and swords lifted Kurt's chin as the Franks awaited their King's judgment.

Then, with a swirl of his cloak, the mighty Charlemagne turned to pronounce his sentence.

Kurt took the nanosecond of silence to study the legendary ruler's face. Charlemagne was actually somewhat short in stature, stolidly built with a slightly protuberant belly from the roast meats he so enjoyed. His nose was a little larger than that of most men, with a very round head atop a short, fat neck and blonde hair with which to cover it.

Kurt felt somewhat underwhelmed. Charlemagne would have been kind of comical-looking if he were not the most powerful man in all of Europe. The young mutant had expected someone much more…_epic-looking_.

Charlemagne raised a fair-colored eyebrow. "Report," he said simply, his voice deep and slightly warbling.

The lead soldier bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, we found this one in the great forest not four nights past. He was obviously an intruder of some sort, and so we brought him here to await your sentence for his crime."

The Frankish ruler peered closely at Kurt, and his captive began to feel like some kind of zoo exhibit. "What manner of creature is this?" he wondered aloud.

The soldier inclined his head. "Mighty One, we know not the answer. But this creature is able to speak, my lord. He even seems to be as smart as any one of us!"

"And what has this intruder to say?" Charlemagne replied. "Perhaps he is merely lost."

The knight rolled his eyes. "The creature claims to be the King of Denmark, Your Highness. I have never heard such a spouting of lies-"

"Stop," Charlemagne cut him off sternly. "Release him at once!"

The bewildered guards hurried to comply, and Kurt rubbed his chafing wrists as Charlemagne ascended the dais where he stood to look at the young mutant face-to-face.

"What is your name?" the monarch asked.

Kurt sighed mentally. "I am Kurtillian Wagnerius I, King of Denmark," he stated matter-of-factly.

Charlemagne looked astonished. "_You_are Bolvar's boy?"

Kurt nodded. "Bolvar Wagnerius was my father, yes."

"Imagine that," Charlemagne chuckled. "That old rascal…I knew sooner or later he'd come back to haunt me…"

Kurt looked confused. "What?"

Charlemagne glared at his soldiers. "This boy is indeed who he claims to be!" he snapped. "I should have you all exiled for treating the son of Bolvar this way! Begone, before I rescind my judgment and lose my temper!"

The guards hurried to exit the chamber, leaving the two Kings utterly alone.

Charlemagne went over to a small table and handed Kurt a silver chalice. "Please, accept my profound apologies," he said sincerely. "Had I known you had ventured here, I would have received you properly. You must be hungry after such a journey," he added. "Come, dine at my table this evening. The food is second to none."

"You knew my father?" Kurt asked, bewildered.

Charlemagne sighed. "Your father was a trusted ally to my people, and a close friend of mine. It was with his assistance that I was able to vanquish the Saxons and the Burgundians when they rose against me. I swore I would repay that debt, but Bolvar died before I could make good on my promise.

Charlemagne's eyes glistened with nostalgia. "We were in the field when he received the news that your mother had gone into labor, you know. I had never seen a happier man than Bolvar was that day. It was a shame that he fell to a Saxon's sword, and your mother dying in childbirth. But I suppose, looking back, it was only fitting poor Bolvar never knew that his wife had died. I think he'd have fallen on his own sword otherwise. But now I'll finally be able to repay the favor your father did for me, Kurtillian. If there is any way in which I may assist you, you need only to ask," the older King's voice was determined.

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well…"

"What's her name, boy?" Charlemagne asked kindly.

Kurt blushed. "Whose name?"

"The girl, of course," Charlemagne grinned. "I can see it in your eyes; it's the same expression your father had when he met your mother."

"Catherine," Kurt admitted. "Her name is Catherine…and she's dying."

Charlemagne's face took on a sober expression. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Well, to make a long story short, a nobleman name Salazar tried to kill me," Kurt said, fighting to keep his voice level. "He didn't succeed, obviously, but the dagger he used was laced with poison. Catherine got a cut on her hand as Salazar made his escape, but to what end and where I have no idea.

"Mary Macleod, my servant, told me that a plant grows in this area that might be able to cure Catherine," Kurt finished. "That's why I came all this way, to try and save her."

"You _are_your father's son," Charlemagne grinned crookedly. "I can easily imagine _him_ doing something like that. What manner of cure is this?"

Kurt thought a moment, remembering Mary's words. "It's star-shaped, with blue-violet petals," he said finally. "And it grows near to the ground, as well."

"You mean these?" Charlemagne pointed to a tastefully positioned vase of local flora that fit Kurt's description. "I know not if they're of any medicinal value, but you're welcome to try them. But tell me more of this Salazar fellow," he added. "Why would he betray you so suddenly? _Think,_Kurtillian. What would turn someone so easily?" Charlemagne's tone was that of mentor to pupil.

"Money," Kurt concluded after a few moments' consideration. "Lots of it. Salazar was always a covetous fellow. Any one of Denmark's foes could have paid him off…"

"I'll bet my throne it's the Vikings," Charlemagne grimaced. "And if this traitor ran off so suddenly, then…"

The color drained from Kurt's cheeks. "There's going to be an invasion…"

"Most likely," Charlemagne nodded. "And that also explains why they'd want to kill you so badly, so there would be no one to oppose them."

Kurt was already turning to go, flowers in hand, but Charlemagne gently gripped his shoulder. "Don't go rushing off blindly," he chided. "You're not going anywhere."

Kurt tried to protest, but the older monarch cut him off. "Oh, no, not without _me!_You're not the only one those Vikings have raided over the years, boy! I'd just love a chance to _finally_crush them! Give me a week or so to get my forces together, and you'll ride back to Denmark with the entire Frankish army beside you! Besides," he said quietly. "I still have a debt to repay."

Kurt grinned hugely, holding out his hand. "Agreed."

Charlemagne clasped Kurt's forearm in a warrior's handshake. "Likewise…"

_Denmark, the city of Arthus…_

Polenicus dabbed a cold, wet cloth on Catherine's feverish brow as he went about his ministrations. Every passing day made it more and more difficult for him to keep Kurt's beloved in the realm of the living. Slowly but surely, the poison was taking its deadly toll.

The old man blinked his eyes blearily in the cold lamplight, and he gently tapped the glass vial he now held with his fingertip, so as to make sure it was mixed evenly. Polenicus sniffed the sickly green fluid gently, apparently satisfied.

"It's not a permanent fix," he murmured. "But I suppose it should keep milady alive…for now, at least."

In keeping with her personality, Mary burst into the infirmary without even knocking. Her normal cheery face was now ashen and pale. "Ye'll not believe what I've jest heard!" the fiery Scot exclaimed. "News from the northern border, Poleniucus! Frederikshawn's bin burnt to cinders! We've bin invaded!"

Polenicus stood abruptly. "By whom?"

"Who do ye think?" Mary spat. "E'en now, they be marchin' further an' further inland! They'll be at oru gates in a matter of days!"

"You mean…" Polenicus' expression suffused with horror.

"Aye," Mary narrowed her eyes fiercely. "The Vikings are comin'!"

A/N: Well, that's not good! Will Kurt arrive in time to save Catherine? Will Salazar ever be brought to account for his treachery? You'll all find out soon enough, because in the next chapter, the Vikings lay siege to Arthus… (EPIC BATTLE TIME!) And PLEASE REVIEW! I would _love_to hear what YOU have to say.

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. To Indigo-Night-Wisp: Once more, you've hit the nail spot-on. I am positively astounded. ^^


	13. Chapter 13

Demon Lord of the Frozen North

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 13: The Final Battle! Arthus Besieged!

It had now been over a month since Kurt had embarked upon his far-off quest.

The day of battle began with a crimson dawn as the cold winds fluttered the banners atop the walls of the city of Arthus. It was eerily silent, not unlike the calm before a hurricane's onslaught, and the scar-faced General Valens took a deep, cleansing breath to soothe his frayed nerves before donning his steel helmet.

Arthus was now an empty city. Any civilians with a grain of common sense had fled into the surrounding countryside by Valens' urging, and the die-hards who'd stayed were now holed up in the cellars beneath the royal palace. This was all for the better, Valens knew. He didn't need noncombatants underfoot when the fighting started.

Valens did not intend to give up the city lightly. Being a career soldier, he'd begun making preparations as soon as the grave news had reached him The city gates were blocked by not one, but _three_ iron portcullises, and even then the massive oaken double doors that lay behind these were barred heavily shut. A score of heavy wooden trebuchets lay balefully silent with their lethal projectiles of large boulders, while large, iron cauldrons of boiling tar and steaming water could be tipped over the battlements to sear and burn the enemy. As much as he was able, the general was determined to make these barbarians buy every inch of their advance with their own blood.

Valens glanced to his left, then his right, his chest swelling with pride at the hard, determined expressions of the soldiers who stood with him. Each and every one of them was willing to sell his life dearly so that victory could be won this day, but even the most valiant of men shook with the apprehension that precedes the commencement of battle.

Then the unnatural silence was broken as the distant form of a single Viking appeared over the horizon. The Norseman waved his spear, and Valens felt the blood freeze in his veins as the bloodthirsty Vikings marched slowly, deliberately toward the city walls. Like a plague of locusts they spilled from the surrounding countryside, more numerous than leaves upon the autumn wind, while their tattered banners and flags completed the barbaric spectacle. Rank upon rank of iron helmets and shining swords glittered like stars of evil in the rising dawn, and the siege towers, battering rams and catapults all made the Vikings a fearsome sight to behold. The warriors of Gurz made the earth tremble with their relentless march, their wild beards and bloodshot eyes glittering with malice and greed as they anticipated the spilling of blood. There seemed to be no end to the Vikings that slowly surrounded the beleaguered city like the pincer of a gigantic crab, more in number than the sands upon the beach.

Valens suppressed a nervous shiver as he drew his sword from its sheath with a flourish. "Raise the standard!" he ordered, waving the weapon aloft. "Raise it high, so that all may behold and fear it!"

Slowly, to the mighty cheers of all present, the two-headed eagle that symbolized the Royal House of Denmark fluttered gallantly atop the walls of Arthus…

Gurz, meanwhile snorted contemptuously at the sight of such feeble opposition. The ominous black horse he now rode pawed at the ground like an enraged bull, and its rider waved his battle-ax aloft. "Let the ravens feast on the corpses of our foes!" he roared. "Let the screams of the dying be long and slow! FORWARD, ATTACK!"

With a sound reminiscent of a thousand snarling lions, the Viking surged forward at the valiant defenders like a tide of darkness and misery, screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs so as to strike terror into the city's defenders.

Valens and his men didn't even move. Per their general's orders, they held back and waited patiently-

-Right up until the Vikings came upon the long ditch of sharpened wooden stakes that the cunning General had so cleverly concealed with a thin layer of dirt. The startled shouts of men and horses were cut abruptly short amongst gouts of blood as they tumbled headfirst onto the needle-like points, and Valens took advantage of the confusion to bloody the nose of the invaders.

It was but the work of a moment for a swarm of barbed arrows to practically blot out the sun like some Biblical plague, and Valens laughed ferociously as the deadly shafts found their targets. Vikings fell like wheat before the farmer's scythe, and many of the more seriously wounded staggered and wobbled about until they fell, screaming, into the stake-lined pit. It was only when the deadly trap became filled to the brim with torn and bloody corpses that the Vikings were able to cross, using the carcasses of their comrades as a grotesque bridge.

It was a tribute to Valens' skill as a soldier that he had inflicted so much suffering on his enemies without yet losing a single man. While the losses weren't severe in comparison to the size of the Viking horde, they were certainly enough to let the Vikings know that these men would not take defeat lying down. Now, the brave general slammed the visor of his helmet shut as his artillery kicked into high gear. One by one, the trebuchets sent their deadly ammunition sailing through the cold morning air like some terrible meteor shower, and two of the Vikings' painstakingly constructed siege engines disintegrated in an explosion of wooden splinters and human detritus. Those not killed outright screamed as they tumbled earthward to a crushing death.

Salazar snorted. "This seems to be going well," he said sarcastically.

Gurz shoved him aside. "Be silent or I'll cut out your insolent tongue and make you eat it," he snarled. The warlord narrowed his eyes dangerously. "My turn," he growled, stalking over to his own artillery. With a flourish, he set the large, combustible-covered boulder ablaze, and a swift pull of an innocent-looking string sent it screaming through the air.

Valens' eyes widened. "INCOMING!" he roared, throwing himself below the walltops at the very instant the projectile hit home with devastating force. The world exploded in a torrent of shattered bricks, stone shrapnel, and human remains. The unlucky soldiers who'd been on the receiving end of the catapult were either killed from the brunt of the impact or burnt alive by the hungrily-licking flames. Valens turned instinctively as more of the deadly missiles flew overhead, crashing into random sections of the city and setting fire to anything they touched. The general's proud heart clenched as his beloved city began to burn. And to make matters worse, the siege towers that hadn't been destroyed were only yards away from the city walls!

Or, it _would _have made matters worse, had Valens not prepared for such an eventuality.

"NOW!" he bellowed.

The soldiers knew what their commander meant, and Valens felt fierce triumph wash over him as a single arrow, its tip ablaze, thudded solidly into the first tower's woodwork. The hard, dried wood that had been soaked with tar and covered with cloth instantly ignited, to the delight of the city's defenders. Screams of agony could be heard from its occupants as the Vikings inside it were burnt to a crisp.

Unfortunately, there was still one tower left, and its drawbridge made a resounding _wham _as it rolled right up against the city walls. The invaders flooded onto the ramparts, and Valens drew his sword with practiced ease.

He was then immediately set upon by enemies from all directions.

Valens brought up his shield just in time to thwart an axe's devastating downward swing, and the impact of the blow made the bones in the general's arm sting. But pain was a way of life for him, and so Valens used the hard, burnished metal to bowl the Norseman backward before running him through so hard that his sword severed the spine. The Viking coughed blood onto his beard before collapsing, but Valens didn't give him a second thought. With surprising agility for one in his golden years, he twisted his body sharply to the right to avoid becoming a shish-ka-bob on the end of a spear, punching his enemy hard in the gut before slashing low and severing the femoral artery in the Viking's leg. Blood spurted onto Valens' armor as the other man quickly expired amidst a pool of crimson, but the general did not even break his stride as he stepped over the corpse. Grabbing the dead Viking's wooden shield in his mail-clad hands, Valens proceeded to break it to splinters over a barbarian's head with one skull-crushing blow before throwing its shattered remnants into the ranks of the enemy. Valens gripped the hilt of his sword with fingers soaked in blood, twisting the blade in his grip to block a slash to the chest with a loud _clang_. The general growled savagely into the leering face of his opponent as the two strained and shoved, but Valens ended the stalemate by bring his armored foot swinging up into the Viking's crotch. The Norseman gave a gasping whine before a stab to the neck ended his problems forever.

There was no quarter given on the field that day. Defender and raider alike expired amidst the unspeakable carnage, and the stone walkways became so wet with gore that men slipped and fell among a forest of broken spears, shattered swords, and the torn bodies of friend and foe alike.

But though Valens fought with all the ferocity of a savage bear, there was one other who shined amidst the fighting, a short, stocky man who used a fearsomely spiked mace to pulverize and crush armor, flesh and bone. This mysterious soldier threw himself recklessly into the fray with all the merciless fury of a cold, searing blizzard, and Vikings fell in droves before his furious onslaught.

With a devastating back-handed swing, the unknown soldier crushed the head of a Viking like a soda can as he started to clamber over the walltops, and bits of blood and brain spattered his iron helm as chunks of flesh clung to the knight's weapon. After shoving the bloody corpse aside, the warrior winked at the Vikings who still clung to their ladder, and a hearty shove sent a pot of searing tar pouring downward right into their faces, and those not killed instantly writhed and screamed in agony as they fell to the hard, frozen ground. The soldier seemed to delight in this as he shattered an invader's entire ribcage with a well-placed blow to the chest, and the mace made a sickening _schliiiik_ as he freed it from the Viking's body. The mere sound made Valens' stomach turn as the two found themselves fighting side by side.

"You fight well," Valens said as his dripping sword claimed yet another victim.

The mystery man pulled back "his" helm, and the indomitable Mary Macleod smiled fiercely as she hefted her weapon. "Aye, as well as the best of 'em! Noo let's be aboot our business!"

"Agreed," Valens replied shortly, silently wondering how on Earth this woman had managed to conceal herself so well.

But despite Mary's confidence and Valens' tactical genius, the tide of battle was beginning to turn against the heroic defenders. The Vikings were starting to overrun the outer wall of the city purely from force of numbers, clambering over the ramparts and tripping over the bodies of their own dead in a bid for victory. Inch by inch, Arthus was being lost to Gurz.

Inches turned to yards as the Viking warlord himself entered the fray with a deafening bellow.

Like a vision from a nightmare, Gurz hurled himself onto the stone walkway, grabbing a soldier and crushing his neck with nothing but his bare hands, lifting him bodily and hurling over the ramparts with an utterly savage growl. A single, mighty swing cut another defender cleanly in half at the waist with an explosion of gore as the army of Denmark began its hasty, inglorious exit, and the ancient stones became splashed with scarlet as Gurz delighted in the destruction he wrought upon his foes. So great was his strength with his chosen weapon that Gurz was able to kill and maim without even choosing a target. A single, semicircular swipe from his monstrous axe was enough to instantly kill not only the man opposing him, but also the man standing behind him. Gurz laughed wildly as he tore a man's arm clean from his torso before using the bloody limb to clobber its former owner to death. None, it seemed, could stand against the Viking lord's almost superhuman strength, and the sight of Gurz's spectacular horror show spurred his followers on to even greater acts of bloodshed as once-proud Arthus began to fall. Like furious ants they crawled and clambered over the blood-spattered ramparts, roaring and shouting while the scent of victory tickled their noses with its enticing aroma, and many of the brave soldiers who'd sworn to defend their home were cut down and butchered in droves. So great was the Vikings' blood frenzy that they began setting alight buildings and houses while they pursed Valens' retreating forces. The general himself fought like a wounded beast, cleaving and carving left and right in a desperate attempt to fall back to the inner ring of fortifications while his city crumbled around him, and Valens roared in helpless fury as the weight of his predicament settled on his shoulders. The scar-faced officer, a soldier to the last, determined to make one last stand so as to give his men a few more precious minutes. Valens grabbed Mary by the shoulder. "Get out of here, and tell the men to fall back to the inner defenses!" he snapped. "I shall stay here and cover your escape."

"Be ye vexed in the head?" Mary exclaimed. "'Tis suicide!"

"I know," Valens said quietly. "Arthus is lost, Mary. I would rather die a hero than be remembered a failure. I could not bear to face His Majesty after failing him so."

Mary felt her eyes sting at Valens' quiet bravery, and knew at once that he could not be persuaded to take any other course of action. She clasped his hand tightly, in wordless thanks, before hurrying off to comply with Valens' orders.

Mary would honor those orders, for they would be the last that Aurelius Valens ever gave. Like a firm rock against a surging ocean, the brave general faced the Viking onslaught armed with sword and shield.

A sad yet determined smile crossed Valens' scarred features as the onrushing horde began to envelop him from all directions, and his final words were those that reflected a lifetime of service to others, a defiant snarl in the face of overwhelming odds.

"_Long live the King!_"

Mary didn't look back to see the general's heroic demise. She, like the rest of the defenders, was making a futile attempt at a fighting retreat as their dilemma grew ever more hopeless. It seemed that there was no end to the Vikings that had begun razing the once-proud metropolis in an orgy of looting and indiscriminate slaughter, and the fiery Scot realized, at that moment, that Arthus and all of Denmark was lost to Gurz and his savage horde. She could only hope that Polenicus would have enough time to get Catherine out of the city before the Vikings stormed into the royal palace itself. Mary felt like vomiting at the thought of Gurz sitting upon Kurt's ancestral throne.

Tears streamed down Mary's cheeks as her voice dropped to a broken whisper. "Fergive me, milord," she sobbed quietly. "We did all we could…"

Salazar, however, felt nothing but vicious satisfaction at the continued destruction of his former home. He glanced casually to his cohort, Lady Aleera, who was practically rabid with the thought of killing Catherine as she lay bedridden with poison.

The vicious beauty snorted. "Serves them right for choosing _her _instead of me," she said petulantly. "Now they'll all pay with their miserable-"

Aleera abruptly slumped in her saddle, killed by the Frankish arrow that had pierced her blackened heart.

Some distance away, Charlemagne put down his bow and snorted. "God, I hate getting old," he murmured to the young King who sat astride his steed. "Can you believe it? _I missed!" _ Then his tone turned grim. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Kurt drew his sword determinedly. "_With pleasure,_" he snarled, his entire being consumed by urgency over the administration of the cure that lay in his pocket. "_ATTACK!"_

With a concerted cheer, the battle was joined afresh as Kurt and his newfound allies hit Gurz's army from behind, trampling, slicing and spearing through the ranks of the foe like an unstoppable juggernaut. The Vikings, having been focused on charging through the ruined city gates, were taken completely by surprise at Charlemagne's sudden counteroffensive. In their scores and dozens the Franks slew the warriors of Gurz, who had seemed so impervious to harm just minutes before. But for all of Charlemagne's military prowess, it was Kurt who shined upon the field of battle.

The young mutant's very _pores _exuded a cold and merciless fury as he fought with an almost inhuman ferocity, the very sight of which made even the most hardened Norseman shake with terror.

With reckless bravado, Kurt jumped from his horse to dodge an overhand swing meant to cleave his skull in two, slicing his opponent's hand clean off before laying him open from neck to belly in such a gruesome manner that it rendered the corpse unrecognizable. The young king seized the Viking's spear and thrust it into another's belly with such force that the Norseman actually slid halfway down the wooden shaft. Kurt's golden eyes glinted with unrestrained anger of the purest and most disturbing kind, and he appeared quite psychotic due to the unrivaled brutality he displayed. Kurt swung his sword in a hissing arc cleaved a Viking's head off with almost surgical precision before stabbing another through the jaw with such force that the tip of his blade emerged from the top of the Norseman's skull, and a quick jerk split the dead man's face in two amidst a shower of bone splinters and brains. Kurt leapt to avoid an axe's swing that would have chopped off his legs had it hit, and Kurt's prehensile tail whipped around the man's throat like a noose before breaking it completely with a nauseating _crack_. The King of all Denmark landed with the disturbing grace of a homicidal acrobat, and Kurt had not even touched the ground before the point of his sword stabbed another Norseman through the side, puncturing the kidneys and slaying him almost immediately. One after another, the supposedly invincible Norsemen fell before Kurt's savage onslaught, and a wordless cry of triumph escaped his lips as Kurt led his allies through the now-shattered gates and into the city like some kind of avenging demon. The Franks wreaked so great a slaughter on the army of Gurz that the cobblestone streets of Arthus became awash in blood, and the Vikings who had so gleefully be plundering only moments before now found themselves fighting for their lives.

Not that it did them any good. Not a single Norseman would live to see the end of this day.

Mary Macleod, who found herself witnessing this miraculous turn of events, seized the tattered banner and waved aloft. "Th' King's returned!" she cried joyously. "Noo fight hard and well, an' let's clear th'land o' this enemy!"

Brandishing her gruesome mace, Mary led the remaining soldiers of the late Valens' command in a fresh assault against their hated foes…

Gurz, meanwhile, was stunned at the abrupt way his fortunes had turned. It took him a moment to recognize the icy feeling in his belly as fear, for not only was Wagnerius alive, but he'd returned at the head of a massive army! Certain victory had turned into a disastrous, total rout! His eyes grew wild as he sought any means of escape, and Gurz turned to flee-

-But then the Viking leader stared at the spear that suddenly seemed to shoot from his belly. Blood spilled onto his vast beard, and Charlemagne whispered in gently in his ear from as Gurz's eyes glazed over.

"Go to Hellgates and burn, _Viking..." _ The legendary ruler murmured.

The prospect of imminent doom held no appeal to the traitorous Salazar. Cruelty and malice flowed through his veins, and the villain slipped unnoticed into the Royal Palace and ascended the stairway.

The same stairway that just happened to lead to the infirmary where Kurt's beloved Catherine lay dying.

But despite all his cunning, Salazar's strategy was in vain. Kurt's vengeful gaze zeroed in on him as he vanished indoors, and the young King felt panic seize his heart as unbridled, roiling anger surged in his veins.

With an almost distracted air, Kurt slew a Viking with a slash to the throat as his tone turned deadly.

"Oh, no you _don't!_"

With his armor practically dripping with the blood of his foes, Kurt bolted off in pursuit of sworn nemesis…

Charlemagne watched him go with a worried expression, as the combined army crushed the Vikings to dust. "Godspeed, Bolvar's son," he whispered, before turning his attention back to the fighting…

Polenicus, meanwhile, had no idea that such a grave threat was coming his way. Nor was he aware that the tide of battle had changed. Even now, with Catherine's limp, pale form in his hands, the gentle healer searched desperately for a way to escape, for her sake if not his own. The white healer's robes that the advisor wore dragged slightly across the stone tiles as he tried to make good his escape, and he rounded the corner-

-Just in time to see a vengeful Salazar storming down the corridor.

The traitor saw the healer, as well. Salazar drew his sword and went in for the kill as Polenicus defied him.

"You _scoundrel_," the healer snarled. "How much more suffering are you willing to inflict upon your own people?"

"As much as I want, after I'm through with you," Salazar grinned, raising his weapon to strike the old man down.

It was at that particular moment that Kurt barreled up the stairs and tackled his mortal enemy with a speed and precision worth of a professional football player. Salazar's blade slid across the hall, and Kurt's eyes burned with savage hate for the man who now lay sprawled before him.

With deliberate, slow motions, Kurt grabbed Salazar by his hair so that his golden pupils met Salazar's blue ones, and the young King's breathing was raspy and hoarse as he stared balefully at the traitor.

"_Now you die,_" Kurt hissed, shoving his sword inch by inch into Salazar's body. The treacherous villain's mouth moved in a continuous, silent scream of unspeakable agony until the razor-sharp steel emerged from between his shoulder blades.

Lord Salazar gave a last moan before Kurt pulled his sword free and spat on his corpse. With trembling fingers, the mutant fished out the bundle of dried flowers he'd stored in his belt pouch and ever so gently fed them into Catherine's mouth. The young woman began chewing by pure reflex as Polenicus kept a finger to her pulse…

For a moment, Kurt feared that all was lost, that all of his efforts to save his beloved had been for naught. His heart sank as if attached to an anchor, but then-

-Then, Catherine of Prydian opened her eyes blearily, and her voice was husky from disuse. "Kurt?"

Any further inquiries were forgotten as her husband sobbed with tears of relief, throwing his arms around her and holding her close to him while running his furry fingers in her hair.

Catherine blushed furiously, but did nothing to push him away. Kurt's tone was soft and tender when he whispered in her ear.

"I love you," he sobbed quietly into her shoulder.

"And I you," Catherine murmured back, closing her eyes as he went in for a kiss.

In that crystalline moment, Kurt knew, not suspected, but _knew_, that for all of his suffering and trials, he was now able to spend his days with the one person he cherished above all others. What precious stone or glittering metal could compare to the woman he now held in his arms? What work of paint or marble could surpass Catherine?

The answer, of course, was nothing, and Kurt didn't break the embrace until Charlemagne walked in on them.

"There's no other feeling like it, is there?" he asked Kurt.

"No," the young King shook his head and smiled. "Only Catherine could make me feel as I do now."

Polenicus stared. "Is that…?"

The Frankish monarch bowed. "The one and only."

"And the Vikings?" Polenicus whispered.

Charlemagne snorted. "If there are any survivors, they will sing of our glory! Those barbarians will not be a threat again for a long, long, time!"

Kurt bowed humbly. "The credit is all yours," he said. "Were it not for you, I would have lost my kingdom this day. If there is anything I can do to-"

Charlemagne cut him off, waving his hand. "Don't even think about it," he said. "Your father saved my life all those years ago, and now I have repaid my debt to him." A crooked grin crossed his face. "Consider us even."

"Done," Kurt smiled back. "But where is- Oh, my God…"

Still clad in her dented and gore-splattered armor, Mary Macleod shouldered her mace and clanked over to the small gathering.

"That was great fun!" the chambermaid exclaimed. "I'll be signin' up fer th'next war!"

Kurt was dumbfounded. "_Mary?"_

"Nay, I be King Arthur an' his bloody Roond Table!" the Scot retorted. "'Course it's me! I wasnae aboot t'let those Vikin' scum git in here without a fight!"

Catherine grinned weakly. "Why am I not surprised?"

_Epilogue_

_It was in the resurgent city of Arthus that a joyous celebration took place that fine afternoon. The horrors of war had been painstakingly scrubbed away from its streets and houses while masons and carpenters went about repairing the damage it had suffered from the Vikings' attack. The streets and marketplaces were once more alive with the hustle and bustle of its citizens, who were congregating up on the royal chapel in droves to witness the grand ceremony and make merry after the ordeal they'd experienced. The royal banner still fluttered proudly from the palace's walls as the horde of eager townsfolk flooded inside, and a shower of rose petals made the air sweet and heavy with their pleasant scent._

_A self-conscious Kurtillian Wagnerius I brushed at his cloak lightly. "Do I look okay?"_

"_For the last time, sire, you look fine," Polenicus said. "Now get a move on! Do you want to be late for such a momentous occasion?"_

"_No," Kurt said nervously. "Of course not!"_

"_Then git yerself in there an' be married proper-like!" Mary said, shoving him through the side door and onto the red velvet carpet that covered the chapel floor. Kurt felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of Catherine in her wedding dress, and all in attendance roared their approval as he went to stand next to her. After all, Kurt had been elevated to the status of national hero after repulsing Gurz and his followers, and it was a King who was beloved by his people who took his vows that day._

_Charlemagne, dressed in his finest, presented the couple with a pair of silver, diamond-crowned rings that nested on a lush, purple pillow which he held in his hands, and a hush fell over the chapel as Kurt took Catherine's slender hand in his own._

_Kurt cleared his throat nervously before he intoned the time-honored words. "__I, Kurtillian Wagnerius I, son of Bolvar, King of Denmark, take thee, Catherine of Prydian, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."_

_Catherine gazed at him with lovestruck eyes as she slipped a larger ring on her husband's hand. __"__I, Catherine of Prydian, take thee, Kurtillian Wagnerius I, son of Bolvar, King of Denmark to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."_

_Charlemagne's grin was bigger than a peeled banana. "You may now kiss the bride!"_

_No sooner had those words been uttered than the King and Queen embraced amidst a shower of red petals that fluttered from the high rafters, and all present broke into a spontaneous and most joyful celebration of cheers and well-wishing. Even Desiderius, the deposed King, smiled at the touching sight, and all around the brazen tone of those massive bells sent a jubilant message for miles around._

_BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!_

_Kurt had never felt so happy in his entire life, and he gently brushed a lock of hair from Catherine's beautiful eyes. "I love you, Catherine."_

"_I love you, Kurt."_

_There was nothing else that really needed to be said after that._

_~The End~_

A/N: Awww… Isn't that sweet? I hope this last chapter was worthy of all its hype, as I've never done a fight scene quite like this one before. I would deeply appreciate your feedback on it! ^^ But I must say that it is with great pride and deepest pleasure that I present to you this last, final chapter of my Historical Kurtty Trilogy! It has given me no end of joy to write for all of you, and to Blanc Expression, AmuletSpade, ObsessedwithNightcrawler, Gabry, KichiMiangra, Indigo-Night-Wisp and all the rest, I extend my gratitude for your continued readership and support! I have been truly humbled by all of your warm praise and helpful feedback, and thus I present this last installment as a gift to you all. ^^

I am, and ever shall be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


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